


A Home for the Stars

by LostOzian



Series: The Blood-Stained Knight of Beforus [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Beforus, Beforus Ancestors, Coming of Age, Could Be Canon, Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs, Doctorate candidacy typical torture, F/F, F/M, First Guardians - Freeform, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Politics, Recreational Drug Use, child characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 39
Words: 116,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostOzian/pseuds/LostOzian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a stipulation of a political treaty between the Empress and the Grand Highblood, the Mirthful finds himself the surrogate culler of the Compasse's most precious ward: an off-spectrum mutant named Karkat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Treaties and Treasures

**Author's Note:**

> If I die and become a fossil in the distant future, I wonder what people will see in me.  
> Even if they analyze, categorize, and decipher me, only I will know the person I loved.  
> \- Hoshi no Sumika, by Aobozu

Relations 8etween Her Radiant Compassion and the purple8loods had 8een contentious for centuries. Really, the institution of culling had only 8ecome a formal social and legal o8ligation early in the reign of Meenah’s predecessor, the Compasse, empress of 8eforus when our session 8egan. Inter-caste violence was incredi8ly rare, 8ut 8eforus still contained a great many dangers, from the sun to the wildlife, and for all their psychic gifts warm 8loods often led unnaturally short lives. When the Compasse ascended the throne, she created the institution of culling, so that warm8loods could depend on the protection of a stronger and longer-lived cool8lood.

The purple caste — highest of the landdwellers — fought horn and claw to 8e exempt from this institution, claiming that their religious 8eliefs conflicted with the Compasse's orders, and they would 8e unfit guardians for warm8loods. Frankly, many warm8loods agreed, citing rumors of terrifying and mysterious chucklevoodoos that purple8loods supposedly possessed. 8ut, the Compasse had decreed that culling or equivalent community service 8e mandatory for all castes, and as the highest landdwellers the purple8loods had a lot of responsi8ility to contri8ute. Most purple8loods were forced into culling warm8loods as punishment for other social transgressions. The Compasse and the Grand High8lood negotiated a vast num8er of treaties to try and smooth over these difficulties, until the Compasse proposed a very peculiar arrangement:  
  
**If ten purplebloods are willing to spend one )(undred sweeps culling trolls olive and warmer, t)(en t)(e entire caste will be exempt from culling for t)(at period. In addition, t)(e Grand )(ig)(blood's )(eir must pledge to protect my greatest treasure for )(is entire lifespan, but t)(en )(e will also be exempt from culling for )(is w)(ole lifespan.**  
  
The purple8loods considered this treaty a 8argain. The ten volunteers stepped forward and were exalted 8y their peers as generous martyrs, and history does not recall any particular distur8ances in their time as cullers. As for the High8lood's Heir, he journeyed to the Compasse's amphi8ortress at his elder's command, expecting to spend an uneventful few decades as a glorified watchman. 8ut this treaty set into motion events that would alter the course of 8eforus's history forever.   
  
This is the story of how the Mirthful met the Chimeric.

* * *

  
Gamzee stood in the central hall of the palatial amphibortress, passively observing the volcanic rock and coal architecture. Most every wall depicted great carved murals of Beforus’s glorious history, as empress after empress presided over what was surely a finer and greater age than her predecessor. But, Gamzee didn’t care too much about that kind of shit. The political fires burning in the hearts of others as others swore up and down that the Compasse was breaking the chain of great empresses didn’t blaze in Gamzee’s blood pusher. She  _was_  being all kinds of motherfucking annoying, but he could deal with that no problem.  
  
Serve her for the lifespan of her greatest treasure, huh? The Compasse had reassured the Grand Highblood that the treasure’s lifespan would not be longer than fifty sweeps. For a hundred-and-two sweep old, fifty sweeps was still a daunting amount of time, but in the grand scheme of his lifespan he’d probably barely remember it. Much like his politics, Gamzee couldn’t feel too mad playing guard barkbeast to one of the Empress’s pets. He’d learned as a wiggler to put his faith in the Mirthful Messiahs, so whether he spent the next hundred sweeps as a petsitter or returned to the Church in time for the next Parade of Horns didn't matter much to him.  
  
After a few minutes of staring at the walls and getting his contemplative zone on, her Radiance arrived, swathed in a simple fuchsia dress with very little adornment, save a fine mesh of gold netting holding her curtains of hair behind her shoulders. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Gamzee, like he was the answer to some unspoken prayer.  
  
“Mirthful! Thank goodness you’re here, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you in person!” The Compasse spoke like a song, light and energetic. She held her two hands out to Gamzee, and he briefly took them in a sort of double-handshake. His large fingers dwarfed her slender, seadweller palms. “Did you have a pleasant journey?”  
  
“Wicked motherfucking greetings to you, Compasse,” Gamzee pulled his hands back and flicked an imaginary handful of special stardust at the empress. He wouldn’t waste the real stuff on a heretic, royal or otherwise. “The journey didn’t trouble me a bitchtitty bit.”  
  
The Compasse giggled, but Gamzee spent his whole life surrounded by free-flowing fountains of laughter and knew she was forcing it. “Yes, thank you. I appreciate your greeting and your blessing, but in light of your new duties, you will have to limit your use of profanity. Please, do not swear in front of the young one.”  
  
“But I can get my motherfucking swear on at you, right?”  
  
The corner of her smile twitched. “That’s… fine. But perhaps, you could adjust your makeup? It could frighten him.”  
  
Gamzee grinned as wide as he could, stretching the lines of the traditional Terrighteous Skull face paint. “Why don’t we let the other motherfucker decide if he’s gonna get his fear on?”  
  
The Compasse’s eyebrows knit together a little more, but even on this point she had to relent. “Fine. I understand the paint is spiritual for you, but if it agitates him, you  _will_  change it. Am I clear?”  
  
“Absolutely, my fishy sister.”  
  
“If you’ll follow me, please.”  
  
Gamzee fell into step behind the Compasse as she led him down an adjacent hall. He knew he had won that round of negotiation—everything from the blessed swears to the choice of greasepaint was meant to subvert the Compasse’s orders and prove that the purplebloods would not be udderbeasted by her whims—but his heart still wasn’t really in it, much like the politics. None of this really affected the grand mirthful design that led to the Dark Carnival. Gamzee could spend his whole life waiting talon and claw on loathsome heretics and the ultimate destiny of all creation would not change. If the Empress thought she was the biggest fish in the sea or not, what did it matter? If Gamzee made himself a thorn in her gills, what would that accomplish? Well, as far as the Grand Highblood was concerned, Gamzee’s treatment during his indentured servitude would dictate tyrian and purple cooperation for the next few centuries, so he might as well try to get along and see if the Compasse would meet him halfway.  
  
“I have received your vacation calendar as well,” the Compasse made small talk as they walked. “Your religious festivals have been noted, and I will be sure to find a replacement culler for those times so you can observe your traditions.”  
  
“I thought you motherfucking said I was going to be a protector, not a bitch-ass culler.”  
  
“Then, I suppose it’s time to tell you. My most precious treasure is a rare and special young troll. I found him as a grub, passed over by all the  _lusus naturae_. No creature would raise him, so I brought him into my hive.”  
  
Gamzee pulled a face behind the Compasse as he tried to contemplate what that meant. A grub without a lusus happens every so often, but a grub _unchosen_  by a lusus was impossible. What was wrong with this wiggler?  
  
“How old is he?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Nearly a sweep old. His wiggling day is in the next bilunar perigee. He just finished his pupation, too. It’s getting harder to keep up with him now that he can run, and I do still have my duties as Empress to attend to. I want him to have the most beautiful experience his allotted lifespan on this planet will allow, and he needs someone to protect him when I cannot. I think a minstrelister like yourself would be the best candidate for such a task.”  
  
Gamzee didn’t frown, but he was hardly pleased. This joke, tricking him into becoming a culler, was not very funny. Well, it shouldn’t be too bad. From the way the Compasse was speaking, fifty sweeps sounded like a generous estimate for a troll so deformed no lusus would choose him. The little motherfucker probably wouldn’t live much past ten. He’d reach adulthood, receive his title, and kick the wicked motherfucking shit.  
  
The Compasse arrived at a heavy wooden door, but paused before opening. In the silence, Gamzee could hear quick thumps and ripping sounds from inside.  
  
“Oh, carp…” the Compasse hissed, and she opened the door.  
  
All of the furniture had been knocked over and piled in the center of the room. End tables, an ottoman, some chests, a statuette or two, a few chairs, and was that a bookcase? Yes, that was an overturned bookcase, with all the discarded books scattered about the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs. Several titles, as well as some swaths of torn curtain, served as roofing for the impressive bunker of miscellaneous furniture.  
  
“Karkat!” her Radiance cried, and with another mighty  _riiiiiiiiiip_ , a wall hanging on the far side of the room separated from its hooks, pulled by a very determined young wiggler with puffy hair and nubby horns. As soon as the young thing caught sight of the Compasse, he shrieked an ear-splitting “NOOOOOOO!” and sprinted away, dragging his curtained cape behind him.  
  
The Compasse immediately chased and quickly caught her prey, using the curtain he had torn down as an impromptu net. The wiggler continued screaming incoherent bloody murder as the Compasse held the swaddled troll in Gamzee’s direction.  
  
“Mirthful, may I introduce my cullee, Karkat. He’s three weeks post-pupation…” The Compasse breathed a huge sigh. “And I am  _exhausted._  He will not stop running into trouble, and I’m so afraid he’s going to get himself hurt. I promise you will receive support in turn, but I cannot go on culling him the way I did before. I need help.”  
  
Karkat continued to writhe in the Compasse’s arms, not enjoying her radiant compassion one little bit. He fought with everything he had to escape the curtain, but the Compasse was simply too strong. Gamzee found himself faced with two conflicting emotions as he stared at the troll in the Compasse’s arms. Half of him was horrified he had to spend any length of time looking after this tiny demon. The other half wanted to follow Karkat and see just how far this little soul full of rage would propel him.  
  
“Why don’t you set the little mother—uh, grubber down? I wanna meet him on his level.”  
  
The Compasse follows Gamzee’s direction and placed the bundle of screaming troll between them as the adults knelt. Even Karkat could see there was nowhere to run as he untangled himself from the fabric and looked Gamzee over, standing a little closer to the Compasse than to the newcomer, falling silent for a minute. Gamzee looked him over in turn. He looked fairly strong for a wiggler, evidence of a well-fed grubhood. He wore no shirt, just some swaddling around his legs.  
  
“What’s… wrong with his scars?” The two vestigial grublegs on Karkat’s sides were an unnaturally bright red.  
  
“That’s his blood color. He’s has an off-spectrum mutation. I have reason to believe he is warmer than a burgundy in that respect.”  
  
Gamzee bit back a ‘damn’ and continued to stare at Karkat. “Is that what you’re so angry about, little bro? Do you think you’ve got bad blood all up in your pump biscuit?”  
  
Karkat took a step closer to Gamzee, carefully examining his face, until he reached out and slapped his cheek. As a wiggler not even one-fourth Gamzee’s size, the blow didn’t even sting, but when Karkat started to mash his hand and smear Gamzee’s paint that was the last straw. Gamzee grabbed hold of Karkat’s arms, holding them far away from his face. The child’s arms were about the diameter of one of Gamzee’s fingers.  
  
“Be careful with him, Mirthful!” The Compasse interjected as Karkat began to struggle. He stamped his feet and shook his body and head and flung his arms forward into Gamzee’s hold. Finally, Gamzee decided he’d had enough and released the boy, letting momentum carry him forward to fall flat on his face. The Compasse gasped, scandalized, but Karkat lifted his head and for the first time  _smiled_. He picked himself up off the floor and rushed at Gamzee again, only for the same thing to happen. Catch, struggle, drop.  
  
“Mirthful, I really don’t think you should play with him like that! When he was a grub, he liked lullabies and stories and tickles—”  
  
“Compasse, I don’t mean to get all up in your opinionations, but this little moth—um, mothling just got himself a pair of arms and legs. He just wants to get his wicked exercise on. There anywhere he can run around and get some starlight on him?”  
  
“Well, no. He hasn’t been outside quite yet, but once he’s older and stronger he will—” A small ringing sound filled the air between you, and the Compasse hissed again as she lifted a small shell phone to her ear. “Yes, Seafarer? Yes. I understand, I’m almost finished…”  
  
As the Compasse delivered her status report to some dignitary, Gamzee returned his attention to the wiggler still playing in his hands. “You’re an angry little troll, aren’t you?” he whispered to the child. “You’re only happy when you’re hopping mad… Almost like you’ve got a little harshwhimsy in you…” Karkat said “NO!” a few times, but that just seemed like the only word in his vocabulary so far.  
  
The Compasse clipped her phone shut and stood. “I’m so sorry, but there’s urgent business waiting for me. I will be back in a few hours, and I can send you a seamail with more instructions. In the meantime, I don’t expect you to clean anything, but… don’t let him break anything else?”  
  
“You got it, my fishy sister,” Gamzee answered. He let Karkat free and watched as the Compasse left, since then the coast would be clear to play whatever rough-and-tumble game Karkat wanted to play. But, when he looked back to Karkat after the Empress’s departure, he had gone. A few giggles revealed that he had burrowed himself in the bunker of assorted busted furniture.  
  
“Now what are you in to?” Gamzee noticed a few tunnels in the pile, and reached a hand in one. Nothing. He slapped the floor a few times and heard Karkat laugh again. Yep, that motherfucker was toying with him. Gamzee pulled his arm out and circled the bunker, looking for a more likely opening, and he reached his hand in again. Same result. The third time, Gamzee picked a hole, waited, then snapped his hand forward like a viper and caught Karkat’s ankle, dragging the little wiggler out of the pile and out into the open.  
  
“Gotcha,” Gamzee told the young wiggler, and with his charge secured, and hanging upside-down in his hand, Gamzee looked back to the closed door. What was this mutant actually worth, such that the Compasse would offer Gamzee’s caste such a lopsided deal to secure his protection? It didn’t make any sense, she completely ingratiated herself before the Grand Highblood just to find a surrogate lusus for her little—  
  
“FUCK!” A sharp pain pierced Gamzee’s hand, and he instantly released his hold on Karkat, only to remember just in time that he needed to catch the child with his other hand so he wouldn’t fall on the floor. A set of round teethmarks covered one of his fingers. Karkat had wiggled his way into grabbing hold of Gamzee’s hand and decided, once in reach, to bite him. Purple blood welled up from the little row of punctures as Gamzee continued muttering curses. “Motherfucking bitch-ass teeth, too motherfucking sharp for your own good,  _fuck_ …”  
  
“Fuck!” Karkat repeated. His wide eyes glimmered like Gamzee had taught him a secret of the universe. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”  
  
Gamzee gaped at his wound and the nascent foulmouth who injured him, but then sighed and licked his hand clean. So much for not swearing in front of the Empress’s treasure.


	2. The Little Motherfucker

Gamzee evaded punishment for Karkat’s new habit of howling “fuck” simply by tiring him out. In the hours between when the Compasse left and when she returned, Karkat realized that Gamzee was a perfect target upon which to unleash his pent-up energy. He used Gamzee’s height and bulk as his own personal jungle gym, climbing all over his arms and legs, and screaming with what Gamzee assumed to be delight whenever Gamzee pulled him off and deposited him somewhere else, only for the whole process to start all over again. This kind of play was so easy Gamzee could do it in his sleep, and after a while Karkat lost steam, stopped climbing, and started to yawn. He looked a lot less like a tiny demon when he was tired.  
  
When the Compasse returned, Gamzee proudly passed a dozing Karkat into her arms. She cooed and brushed the wiggler’s hair out of his sleepy face.  
  
“Did you have any trouble?”  
  
“Not a wicked bit. I told you he just needed to up and let his energy go.”  
  
“You were rough-hiving?”  
  
“I’d hardly call it rough-hiving. There’s not a single motherfu…dging scratch on him, and we didn’t break anything.”  
  
Karkat yawned with a squeak and nestled closer to the Compasse’s rumble spheres, and her Radiance’s reservations melted. It had probably been a while since Karkat cuddled so close to her, and she missed it.  
  
“You’ve done a very good job, Mirthful,” she said. She gestured for him to follow into a respite block set up like a nursery. Gamzee can tell a lot of the furniture in this room was heavily dented, so Karkat must have been making himself a terror in this room, too.  
  
The Compasse sang lightly to her cullee, and when he seemed to have fallen asleep completely, she placed Karkat in his sleep basket, a mesh fitted to the top of a recuperacoon to let very young trolls sleep safely in full-size ‘coons.  
  
“Your room is next door, on the left. You should find all your belongings there, along with every comfort you may desire. The room is equipped with a grub monitor connected to Karkat’s room, but you should only be disturbed if he starts to cry.”  
  
“Do you think he will?”  
  
“With sopor, he usually sleeps through the night. Only an emergency will wake him, or you. You should get some rest yourself, so you’re ready when night falls again.”  
  
“So I’m gonna grubsit the motherfucker from dusk to dawn?” The Compasse frowned at Gamzee’s language, but he gestured to the clearly unconscious wiggler.  _And it’s not like I can damage to his vocabulary much more…_  
  
“He will begin schoolfeeding soon, and I will do my best to visit him, too. When he is with me or a tutor, you should be present, but you are not responsible for his care at those times. You can do whatever you like then.”  
  
Gamzee nodded. “Alright, I got my motherfucking understand on to what you’re saying around me. Now you should get some sleep, too. I’ll just say my good-day to the little grubby.”  
  
“Of course, Mirthful. Sleep well.”  
  
The Compasse left, and Gamzee leaned over the edge of Karkat’s recuperacoon. The giant cocoon made him look even tinier, and with his body finally still and at peace, he actually looked as fragile as the Empress thought he was. The little undercurrent of psychic terror in Gamzee’s brain recognized that there was not a single shred of fear in this wiggler’s think pan. To Karkat, the entire world was beautiful and good just as it was. He didn’t need to seek paradise; he had found it. Paradise was nothing more than a day of play and warm sopor waiting for him at the end of it all.  
  
Gamzee leaned a little closer to the edge of the recuperacoon. “You’re innocence incarnate, you little motherfucker. Compasse has me standing sentinel over your pointless life. You better get some motherfucking appreciation in your mutant blood pusher about it.”  
  
Karkat slept on. For all of Gamzee’s frustration, the chucklevoodoos stayed restrained. Cursed dreams were a weapon reserved for actual enemies of the Church, not inconvenient mutants. But he did dip his finger into the sopor and drew two small pictures on Karkat’s forehead.  
  
_:o)_  
_)o:_  
  
That’d show him.  
  


* * *

  
Gamzee adapted to a new routine near-instantaneously. He woke naturally before his charge, and had some time to leisurely eat, clean, and paint his face before Karkat woke and invariably started crying. When he heard his charge’s agitation through the grubmic, he left his room for the other, and lifted Karkat out of the recuperacoon and threw some clothes on him, usually selected by the Compasse the morning before. The first few mornings, Karkat hadn’t recognized Gamzee because he had changed his paint, but a few lifts and tosses were all it took to jog his memory and help him remember,  _Oh yeah, this is the one who doesn’t treat me like I’m made of glass._  At least, that’s what Gamzee assumed Karkat was thinking. He had a hard time reading thoughts unless they were thoughts of fear.  
  
He’d play with Karkat just enough to burn out some early-evening energy and get him calm enough to sit with the tutor for a few hours. Gamzee tuned the schooling out and either read books or spent some time on his Trollian account, mostly messaging peers from the Church and keeping them updated to his situation. He didn’t tell them about Karkat’s mutation, merely called him warmblood and somehow “special.” He reassured the Grand Highblood that he would be back among his fellow minstrelisters most likely in a dozen sweeps. This separation from Church and caste would last for barely a blink in the grand flow of time.  
  
Depending on the day, Gamzee and Karkat would have meals together—the little dude had a new habit of smearing his food on his face, and Gamzee wondered if he was trying to imitate his greasepaint—or simply spend some time playing before either returning to the tutor or getting a visit from the Compasse. She usually brought some sort of toy or game to offer the wiggler, which he usually enjoyed. Even when things got icky or sticky, she never shied away from the duty of cleaning and caring for him, even when she had every right to delegate the task to Gamzee. He could tell she wasn’t kidding about viewing Karkat as her greatest treasure, and if she were able she would give up everything else just to care for him… but of course, she couldn’t. Beforus needed Her Radiant Compassion to run the empire and care for everyone else.   
  
Gamzee could at least be appreciative for the fact that his influence managed to earn Karkat some Outside Time in the middle evening, where he could play under the stars in one of the amphibortress’s grassy courtyards. The ability to run for long distances did the wiggler’s temperament a world of good, but Gamzee knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with the courtyards for long. He’d get too big and want to run further. He wondered what the Compasse planned to do when Karkat approached adolescence. Motherfuck if Gamzee was going to advise her on that.  
  
With proper tutoring, Karkat learned quickly. Or maybe not so quickly, Gamzee had no idea how quickly wigglers were meant to learn words, but he noticed every so often the tutor needed to hastily dig up new, unprepared materials when Karkat successfully scribbled all over a matching exercise, pointed to the right flash card, or parroted a word correctly. Rather than simply hollering for whatever he wanted, Karkat was starting to us actual words and short phrases to express himself, though his volume control left something to be desired.  
  
To him, Gamzee was ‘Murfle.’ Commands like “Murfle, up!” and “Murfle, here!” and “Murfle, food!” peppered his speech, and Gamzee wasn’t sure what to think about this new power dynamic where Karkat had the unlimited ability to order him, until he started to realize that the Compasse was in the exact same position.  
  
“Murfle, where Feffy?!” Karkat asked, clutching a plushie that the Empress had brought him. “Feffy! Feffy!  _Feffy_!”  
  
“What the motherfuck is a Feffy?” Gamzee asked the wiggler. He lay down beside him, still towering over the seated child while reclining.  
  
“FUCK! FUCK, FEFFY! FEFFY, FEFFY, FEFFY,  _FEFFY_!”  
  
Gamzee sighed and sent a message to the Empress.  
  
__theisitcConvivality is now contacting consumateCondolence  
  
TC: ThE LiTtLe bRo iS ShOuTiNg aBoUt fEfFy. AnY IdEa wHaT ThE MoThErFuCkInG ShIt iS Up wItH ThAt?  
CC: O)(! I'm so sorry, t)(at's w)(at )(e calls me. Is somet)(ing wrong? I'll be over as soon as I can!  
TC: NaH, tHe lItTlE BrO Is jUsT PlAyInG WiTh oNe oF HiS FiSh tOyS AnD StArTeD ShOuTiNg aLl uP In hErE.  
CC: I see. If you can calm )(im down, I'll be t)(ere to see )(im V-ERY soon!  
  
Gamzee put down the messenger. Karkat had decided to let go of the plush and hit ‘Murfle’ on the head with his tiny fists, perhaps as punishment for failing to summon Feffy immediately. All it really took to distract Karkat from that painless and pointless activity was a few tosses in the air, but Gamzee really wasn’t paying attention beyond what was necessary to not drop the wiggler. The Empress used her hatch name with Karkat, and would drop everything to run to him if called. Gamzee couldn't imagine being that close to Karkat, or even having the wiggler use his hatch name.  
  
“I’m the Mirthful, motherfucker,” Gamzee said, holding Karkat up to his face. “Get it?  _Mirthful_.”  
  
“Murfle! Murfle fucker! Murfle fucker, Murfuckler!” Karkat’s repetition gradually dissolved into cherry-tinged spit bubbles. “Mrfhfhfhflwppphthhthhtp…”  
  
Gamzee rolled his eyes. Messiahs help him.

* * *

  
The time passed quickly, just like Gamzee knew it would. Karkat continued growing. By the age of one and three-quarters, he’d outgrown two sleeper baskets and could pull himself out of his recuperacoon by all by himself and only landed on his ass half the time. If in the mood, he could dress himself, though if given the choice he would wear literally the same shirt and pants every single night. Gamzee never expected he’d have to fight a wiggler to release his clothes so they could get washed. Karkat still enjoyed rough, physical play, but he started asking for story time again, to the Compasse’s joy. She delighted in selecting a book he had never heard before, then snuggled deep into some cushions, she carefully read every word as written, showcased all the pretty pictures, and patiently answered any questions. Gamzee took a more slapdash approach to story time, and reached for the nearest book, which sometimes was a wiggler story, but sometimes it was a cookbook, or a thick novel, or a horror story, or Gamzee’s own Testament of the Messiahs. He wouldn’t bother to cuddle up in a pile either, and basically placed Karkat wherever he would stay still enough to listen: on the floor, in his lap, over his shoulder, on top of his head.  
  
“Why do the faces have paint?” Karkat asked, pointing at Gamzee’s Testament from his perch on the purpleblood’s head. Gamzee had picked a story about an ancient Grand Highblood known as the Frenzied who traveled a vast desert for four perigees and twenty days with the only existing copy of the Testament. He survived grueling trials and defended the tome from weather and wild beasts alike. The illustration showed the moment when the Frenzied arrived at the hive of the Quipster, who would take the Wicked Word and copy it so it may flourish.  
  
“It’s a show of wicked devotion, to paint upon your motherfucking face the visages of the band of capricious minstrels who will guide us to the Dark Carnival.”  
  
Karkat didn’t seem to care about Gamzee’s explanation. “What’s that?” He pointed at the book in the Frenzied’s hands.  
  
“That’s the same motherfucking book I’m reading to you.”  
  
“The same?”  
  
“Not the exact same, but it’s got all the motherfucking words in it, thanks to the Frenzied. That motherfucker’s a true hero.”  
  
“Motherfucker…” Karkat wormed himself into Gamzee’s lap to look closer at the book. He pointed again, this time at the Frenzied’s face. “Murfle, why is… why is his face paint?”  
  
Karkat already asked that. Gamzee twisted his mouth and answered, “Well… uh, he’s wearing the couraudacious paint? He wanted the Messiahs to help him face the desert, and he was blessed with courage and the sweetest of miracles.”  
  
“What’s that?” Karkat pointed to the Quipster’s face.  
  
“The witlicking paint. For in getting his understand on to the flow of the Messiahs.”  
  
Karkat turned away from the book and pointed at Gamzee’s face. “What’s that?”  
  
"It's just me, motherfucker,” Gamzee answered, smiling.  
  
“No, fuck!” Karkat wrinkled his little brow and pointed harder, jamming his finger into Gamzee’s cheek. “Murfle, what’s  _that_?”  
  
“My paint?”  
  
“Yes. Why is your face paint?”  
  
“This is the tolerowdy paint. It’s for pilgrims who won’t be getting their blessed honk on at the Church for a long time.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because there’s a shitlicking ton of seditious motherfucking heretics all out there.”  
  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _no_ , Murfle… Why won’t you honk on at… at the Church?” Karkat struggled to repeat Gamzee’s sentence.  
  
“Because I’m looking after you,” Gamzee answered, which was essentially true.  
  
“So… you’ll go tomorrow?”  
  
“No, my little invertibrother.”  
  
“But Feffy is tomorrow, so you can go!”  
  
“I can’t go far enough, because I gotta come back and keep looking out for you.”  
  
Karkat frowned harder. This was getting hard to understand, but bless his bloodpusher for trying. “I’m not a wiggler. Go to Church and do the honks!”  
  
Gamzee chuckled. Karkat wasn’t even two sweeps old and he had already begun insisting he wasn’t a wiggler. “Sorry, but ‘Feffy’ thinks I still gotta stay right here.”  
  
“How long?”  
  
_Until you die,_  Gamzee felt tempted to say, but something about the little boy’s petulant face held him back. Reminding Karkat of his mortality seemed too cruel, even for a tiny heretic.  
  
“…Forever, little bro.” Gamzee said. “I’m here to look after you for motherfucking forever.”  
  
Karkat didn’t like that answer. “No! I don’t—fuck motherfucking fucker, I don’t—M’notta grub! When I grow up, you go to Church and honk and motherfucking don’t come back!”  
  
Gamzee just chuckled. “That’s the plan, motherfucker.”  
  
“I’m gonna be big, Murfle! Bigger than you! Not gonna need you for fuck-shit.”  
  
“Uh-huh…” Gamzee ruffled his hair. No way a troll as warm as Karkat would ever eclipse Gamzee’s height.  
  
“Yeah! Fuck, I’m gonna… I’m gonna be so big I’ll pick you up!”  
  
“Really now?” Gamzee smiled at him. “How big?”  
  
“Big as—big as a  _whale!_ ”  
  
“A whole whale?”  
  
“ _Two_  fucking whale!”  
  
“Motherfucker, you’re gonna be as big as two motherfucking whales!?” Gamzee reached out and grabbed Karkat’s arms, lifting him off the ground. Karkat took this as an invitation to walk his legs up Gamzee’s torso until he did a flip over his own arms and looked Gamzee in the face again.  
  
“Fuck yeah!” he cried.  
  
“Where are you gonna put your motherfucking hive if you’re big as two whole whales?”  
  
“Ummm… the ocean!”  
  
“You’re gonna live in the ocean?”  
  
“Yeah, with Feffy!”  
  
“But you hate the ocean. You scream like a motherfucker whenever we go swimming.” Three times now, the Empress brought Karkat out to the watery shore of the amphibortress so she and her young cullee could swim, but even with his own floaties and goggles Karkat howled every time the Compasse placed him in the water. He did enjoy games  _near_  the water, like sandball and digging giant holes.  
  
“No, it’s okay because I’m gonna be… be whales,” Karkat explained. He kicked at Gamzee a few more times, but he seemed bored, and quickly went limp, which was Gamzee’s cue to put him down. He plopped the kid on the floor and let Karkat reposition himself in Gamzee’s lap, curled up like a purrbeast.  
  
“You’re a really weird little motherfucker, did you know that?” Gamzee said.  
  
“Myeah…” Karkat agreed, probably in ignorance. Gamzee just ruffled his hair.  
  
“And I’m the  _Mirthful_. Full of motherfucking mirth.”  
  
“Murfle?”  
  
“Mirth. Ful.”  
  
“Miffle.”  
  
“...Fuck it.”


	3. Blasphemy at the Table

When Karkat turned two, the Compasse threw a wriggling day party for him. The guests were entirely adult trolls: her friends and advisors and others her Radiance knew would drop everything to attend such an event. Karkat seemed excited about the idea of having a party, even with people much older and larger than him, but he disagreed with a few finer points of event planning. For one, the little suit that the Compasse picked out for him, with a velvet coat and gold embroidery and ruby buttons to match his blood, made him very fidgety and cranky. And there was still the issue of his favorite word.  
  
“Listen, little bro,” Gamzee told him before the guests arrive. “When all these motherfuckers get here, you can’t say motherfucker anymore.”  
  
“Why not?” Karkat twisted in his coat, struggling to find comfort.  
  
“They’d think it’s all kinds of blasphemous rudeness.”  
  
“Can I say fuck?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Fucking?’  
  
“Nuh-uh.”  
  
“Fucker?”  
  
“None of it.”  
  
Karkat scowled. “Then what am I supposed to say!?”  
  
“You can say you’re Karkat and you’re two sweeps. And you can call them their names. You have to call Feffy ‘Compasse,’ too.”  
  
“Compass,” Karkat repeated, but he emphasized the wrong syllable.  
  
“Tell you what,” Gamzee offered. “If you get through the whole party not saying a single motherfucking bad word, I’ll let you get your paint on with my face.”  
  
“Really!?” Karkat grinned. He’d been subtly trying—and not-so-subtly demanding—to wipe off Gamzee’s face paint and re-apply it to suit his whims. As a religious symbol, Gamzee wouldn’t allow the wiggler to remove his makeup or paint whatever he wanted instead, but but he could probably find an hour to let Karkat go wild until he lost interest, and then re-apply a proper motherfucking face before anyone saw.  
  
“It’s a promise, motherfucker.” Gamzee held out two fingers, which Karkat grasped in one hand and shook.  
  
The chance to play with Gamzee’s makeup must have been more important to the two-sweeper than he realized. As the adults arrived at the party, Karkat barely said anything to them, so careful to keep his favorite profanities out of his speech.  
  
“Hello,” he told everyone. “My name is Karkat. I am two sweeps.”  
  
And that was it. Some people asked him questions, but he just smiled or frowned or looked to the Empress to answer for him. A few guests gushed about how ‘shy’ and ‘demure’ Karkat was, which nearly made Gamzee laugh out loud. Everyone brought presents for Karkat—mostly toys and games he already owned emblazoned with the guests’ signs—but Gamzee knew that generosity was all for the favor of the Compasse. The only gift that really caught Karkat’s attention was a present from a blueblood named the Magician, who pulled a sparkling toy wand from thin air and gave it to the wide-eyed wiggler. Gamzee noticed the Seafarer standing at the Compasse’s shoulder, and the way he scoffed at the Magician’s “ludicrous poppycock.” Well, if he didn’t want to get his believe on to the total motherfucking realness of magic, his loss.  
  
After Karkat received his overly political presents, everyone settled around for dinner. Karkat and the Compasse shared the head of the long table, while Gamzee sat on Karkat’s left and the Seafarer took the chair to the Compasse’s right, leaving Gamzee to stare at his pinched face and violet forelock. He had only met the seadweller a few times so far. The Seafarer did double-duty as the Empress’s second in command and her highest-ranking admiral. Rumors around the palace said he and the Empress were pale for each other behind closed doors, but Gamzee couldn’t prove that. If only the chuckevoodoos in his soul worked on the fishtrolls. Oh well, he’d have to go about learning the Seafarer’s fears the old-fashioned way. Gamzee smiled a little just thinking about it, earning a perturbed eyebrow from the Seafarer.  
  
The meal began with exclamations over the food and miscellaneous small talk, with the nutrition plateaus themselves containing Karkat’s favorites and a few good-for-you foods. Karkat quickly devoured the clams and snails, but pushed his sea salad around as the Compasse dominated the conversation.  
  
“You know, Karkat’s geography lessons have started,” the Compasse told the Seafarer. “It’s so exciting! He’s learning about the Straits of the Serpents, the Starlight Sea, the Gulf of Althelney…”  
  
The Seafarer smirked. “All the greatest locales of Beforus, to be sure.”  _What a smug motherfucker._  Gamzee would bet his one wheeled device that the Seafarer discovered those places himself.  
  
“Maybe you could take Karkat with you on a voyage someday, to visit them in person!” The Compasse suggested. The Seafarer gaped at her like she had just suggested he eat his own horns.  
  
“Are you jokin’? It’s difficult enough to command a vessel without worryin’ about people’s  _pets_  underfoot!” He folded his arms. “Any passenger on one a  _my_ ships has to be able to pull his own weight. I take no joyriders.”  
  
Gamzee leaned close to Karkat. “What do you say, little bro? You wanna get you sail on and see the world?”  
  
Karkat eyed the Seafarer, then tugged Gamzee even closer and whispered into his ear the tiniest “no” that Gamzee had ever heard the motherfucker utter.  
  
“Yeah, I don’t the wicked wriggling dude feels like going on any boats right now,” Gamzee reported.  
  
The Seafarer huffed. “Just as well.”  
  
“But really, even if you don’t want to take Karkat with you, caring for warmbloods is really rewarding! I can’t recommend it enough!” The Compasse added. “I really urge you to reconsider…”  
  
“What’s so great about it?”  
  
“Their lives are like beautiful fireworks, so bright and gone so fast! It teaches you to appreciate the majesty of the world, and keeps you from falling into boring routines.”  
  
“Your Radiance, my lifestyle is completely incompatible with cullin’. You can’t ask me to sail around the world for you, represent you in government,  _and_  look after helpless warmbloods! I’m only mortal, Empress.”  
  
 _Motherfucking excuses._  Gamzee thought.  _Like the ones I used to make._  
  
A woman from down the table with tall, slender horns jumped into the conversation. “Excuse me for interrupting, but I couldn’t help but overhear the topic of conversation. I’d just like to say that I agree with the Empress on this front. Culling has been one of the most positive experiences of my life.”  
  
“How wonderful! How long have you been a culler?” The Empress asked.  
  
“Oh, fifteen… no, sixteen sweeps now! Same troll I started with. Raised him from a grub to his titling day! He never would have lasted with such a weak lusus to take care of him, so fortunately for him I intervened.” She clicked her tongue. “ _Un_ fortunately, he is plagued with a variety of handicaps, so I still care for my Huntsman to this day.”  
  
“Huntsman?  _That’s_  your invalid’s title?” The Seafarer sneered.  
  
The woman waved a hand dismissively. “I know, the title is a complete fakery. He’s never hunted a creature in his life, but he likes to pretend he’s a mighty survivalist, so I let him imagine that because it makes him happy, and his happiness means  _eeeeeeeeverything_  to me.”  
  
“You should have brought the Huntsman along! I think he would have loved to meet Karkat!” the Compasse said.  
  
“He’s been sickly lately, so we couldn’t risk the journey. I’ll be returning home shortly after the party so he doesn’t miss me too much. I still thought it was important to at least show my face at this little shindig you threw, your Radiance.” She flipped some of her hair over her shoulders. “But the point of me jumping in is to say, Seafarer, that you shouldn’t knock it until you’ve tried it. There are many ways to greatly improve the lives of warmbloods without sacrificing what makes your life amazing.”  
  
“Well, forgive me if I don’t instantly take your word on that front,” the Seafarer shot back, before turning to Gamzee. “What would your opinion on this be, Mirthful? You’re hardly here of your own free will, and your culler status has isolated you from your caste. What do you think of cullin’?”  
  
Eyes turned to Gamzee, but he felt most aware of Karkat’s. How much of this conversation did the wiggler understand? He could tell the truth, say that he was just here to fulfill a treaty and earn immunity for the rest of his life, but what would Karkat think to hear that? He trusted Gamzee now—would he lose that trust with the truth?  
  
Gamzee just smiled. “It might be hard for a dude without a strong sense religiousity to understand, but it really don’t mean a thing what I do with this span of mine. I just all up and go with the flow. It’s why they call me Mirthful.”  
  
“Because you face every challenge with a smile!” the Compasse answered.  
  
“You got it, my fishy sister. What I got going on here is just another step in my path to the Dark Carnival and it don’t do me any good to question it.”  
  
“That’s all well and good, but it’s common knowledge that purplebloods are hardly compassionate individuals,” the Seafarer said. “That’s the argument you’ve been usin’ for centuries to avoid compliance with the Compasse’s orders, am I wrong?”  
  
“Seafarer, don’t speak to the Mirthful that way!” the Compasse snapped.  
  
“Am I wrong?!” he repeated.  
  
“You  _are_  wrong!” she retorted. “The Mirthful has been an excellent caretaker for Karkat! I do wish that Karkat’s manners were better, but he is happy and healthy under the Mirthful’s protection!’  
  
“I’m not askin’ for what you think, I’m askin’ the Mirthful! Do you really find culling that satisfying? Chasin’ after a wiggler and cleanin’ up his messes and never gettin’ a moment to yourself? Is that the kind of life you really wanted to lead?”  
  
The seadwellers at the table stayed beyond Gamzee’s psychic reach, but a small kernel of fear gathered to his right, screeching like a faraway tea kettle. Karkat had set down his fork and was sitting on his hands, staring up at the adults and the argument brewing around him. He understood enough to feel afraid.  
  
Fuck that shit.  
  
“What you gotta get your understand on to is there’s a miracle at work here. It all twisted the strings of time and space to drop me right up in this here palace.” Gamzee said. “You’re not gonna steal the magic of my miracle by flinging all your query noodles on me and trying to make me say I’m not happy. That’s one heresy I cannot abide.”  
  
“So you  _like_  taking care of the Compasse’s pet?” The Seafarer said.  
  
“I kept my quiet on while I was hearing you slander him all up and down, calling him the fishsister’s wicked pet, but I now I got to be telling you all what I feel in my heart.” Gamzee looked the seadweller dead in his violet eyes and told him, “His name is Karkat. He’s two sweeps. He’s my best friend.”  
  
The Seafarer’s jaw dropped, and Gamzee took particular satisfaction in the way his next words choked in the back of his fishy throat.  
  
“Now, are you ready to say nice things about my best friend on his wriggling day? Or do I have to make you shut that blasphemous mouth of yours?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Actually, I think it would be best if the Seafarer and I checked on the status of the cake,” the Compasse placed her napkin on the table and stood, glaring pointedly at the Seafarer. As she led the stunned fish troll away, Gamzee heard a cough to his left, and looked over at the woman who had jumped into their conversation earlier. She raised her glass to Gamzee in a small, silent toast, and drank.  
  
Well, whatever the fuck she wanted, Gamzee wasn’t going to ask. He turned back toward Karkat, who still looked petrified, but the fear in his heart was starting to dissolve.  
  
“You okay, little bro?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“…I don’t like him,” Karkat said, staring at the Seafarer’s empty chair.  
  
“Me neither, bro.”  
  
“Am I… really your best friend, Murfle?”  
  
With the Compasse unable to scold him, Gamzee answered, “Sure as shit you are.”  
  
Karkat finally smiled, and he stayed smiling as the Compasse returned, having exchanged the Seafarer for a very magnificent cake, which Karkat and Gamzee enjoyed like it was made of motherfucking magic. 

* * *

  
Later in the night, when Karkat was sorting through the token presents all those highblood adults gave him, he found a little toy ship that had the Seafarer’s sign on the sails. It was obviously a decorative model and not a toy suited to a wiggler. Karkat stared at it for a second, then stuck his tongue out.  
  
“This is a stupid fucking boat,” he declared.  
  
“Here, let me see that,” Gamzee said. Karkat passed Gamzee the model, which appeared to shrink as it transferred from Karkat’s tiny to Gamzee’s enormous hands. Gamzee curled his fingers around the ship and with the sharp pops of splintering wood, reduced it to little more than clumps of sawdust and canvas. Karkat laughed his ass off at that. Gamzee laughed with him.  
  
Morning had technically already arrived, but with the blackout curtains in place Gamzee didn’t see any harm in staying up a little later with Karkat, since it was his wriggling day. He’d probably fall asleep on his own in a little while anyway, so Gamzee made a bit of a pile out of the cushions littered about Karkat’s room, lay back, and let the young boy rest on his chest. Karkat’s was a warm weight above him, and the rapid flutter of his bloodpusher against Gamzee’s slower, stronger pulse felt oddly pleasing.  
  
“Murfle, what’s a miracle?” Karkat asked.  
  
“That’s a big answer. What are you up and asking for?”  
  
“You said you gotting here was a miracle,” Karkat said. “Is a miracle good?”  
  
Gamzee chuckled. “Yeah, there are a ton of miracles that are best motherfucking things to ever happen to the world. And some of them are big, like the Word of the Mirthful Messiahs, and some are little, like the hiss of the wicked elixir. And they happen all the fucking time, everywhere you look.”  
  
“You see miracles everywhere?”  
  
“You bet, best friend.”  
  
“What else are miracles?”  
  
“Let’s motherfucking see… The sun and the stars and the pink moons… computers… cake, pie, basically all the wicked delicious foods of the earth… rain… rainbows… horns, both head-horns and honk-horns… magnets… the Mother Grub… love and hate and all the ways we feel it… music… the way you can have a thought all up in your think pan and then scratch it on a wall or a paper or some shit and then the next motherfucker to see it will understand what you were up and thinking, even if they never met you… paint… one-wheel devices...”  
  
Gamzee kept rambling, as the weight on his chest settled into an unmoving blob. Karkat’s breathing evened out and soon all Gamzee could feel were small twitches in his hands and legs as he started to dream. His dream wasn’t quite sweet, but the best Gamzee could do for that was scoop up the new two-sweep troll and place him in his recuperacoon. By next sweep, he shouldn’t even need a basket anymore.  
  
With Karkat safely asleep, Gamzee returned to his respite block, but didn’t get in his ‘coon yet. On some level, Gamzee wished that Karkat shared his blood color so he could receive a proper schoolfeeding on the wicked motherfucking truth of the Mirthful Messiahs. Gamzee sort of felt like he was fucking it all up, just talking about random shit and telling the stories all out of order whenever Karkat asked. And he shouldn’t be fucking up like this; as the future Grand Highblood, he would be leader of his entire Church. If he couldn’t teach one lousy wiggler the true purpose of his faith, then what right did he have to lead his fellow devotees? Thus far, even with his schedule taking care of Karkat, the Compasse had never asked Gamzee to miss a single religious observence. He’s been faithful thus far, but at the moment, his heart didn’t feel all up in it.  
  
He opened up one of the drawers and found his box of special stardust. He splashed a pinch in his face and settled not into his ‘coon, but into an armchair to read his Testament, though the whole time he had one ear trained for the crackle of a grubmic and the cries of someone who needed him.


	4. Bloody Paint Miracles

Karkat didn’t forget Gamzee’s promise to offer his face as a canvas. The morning following his wriggling day, Gamzee found his young charge had climbed out of his recuperacoon by himself and had dressed himself with globs of sopor still clinging to his skin.  
  
“Hey, you gotta use a towel, motherfucker.”  
  
“I  _did_ ,” Karkat frowned, but Gamzee just took the towel and mopped up the beads of green slime. Karkat cursed as he did, but not as loudly as Gamzee knew he could. When he finished, Karkat angrily tugged on the towel.  
  
“Now you!”  
  
“I’m all clean, little bro.”  
  
“No, fucker! You said I could paint! I didn’t say fuck or fucker or motherfuck yesterday!” Karkat kept tugging on the towel.  
  
“Aw, bro, I just got my paint all did! Can we do it tomorrow?”  
  
“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!” Karkat pulled harder on the towel, and Gamzee heard a few threads start to rip.  
  
“Alright, shit! Let go of the towel, I’ll clean it off!”  
  
Karkat released the cloth, and folded his arms as he watched Gamzee wipe away his greasepaint. It was the first time Gamzee had allowed himself to be seen completely free of makeup since he arrived. His face felt listless without it.  
  
“Now what, motherfucker?”  
  
“Get the paints.”  
  
Gamzee retrieved his tubes of greasepaint from his block and brought them to Karkat’s, scooting along the hallway back and forth with his head bowed. This felt so unnatural, to spend any amount of time in the presence of others without paint. Karkat was a special exception because Gamzee had made a promise to him, but still. The thought of anyone, from Her Radiance to the lowest house servant, seeing Gamzee’s bare face made his digestive sack twist.  
  
“It’s all gray,” Karkat noted with disappointment when Gamzee showed him the makeup. “Black and white and gray.”  
  
“That’s all I need. The minstrel visages don’t need any motherfucking color.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“It’s a  _Dark_  Carnival. Whites and greys show like wicked lightning. Plus, the color comes from other places.”  
  
“Oh. Okay,” Karkat said, and he opened up a tube of grey paint—darker than Gamzee’s skin—and squirted it onto his hand. It was way too much, but Gamzee had more, and he promised to let Karkat play.  
  
Karkat climbed up onto Gamzee, standing on his thighs in order to reach his face, which he promptly slapped with his little hands. Gamzee did his best to say nothing as Karkat smeared the paint all over, but a few protests mattered.  
  
“Careful there, you’re— _ow_ , motherfucker, that’s my eye!”  
  
“I’m being careful! Just stay still!” Gamzee moved his hands to support Karkat’s back so hopefully he wouldn’t keep getting poked in sensitive places. Karkat demanded to be let down a few times to re-apply paint to his hands, but hopped right back up and kept working on his masterpiece. In a few minutes, Gamzee felt certain there was no part of his face Karkat hadn’t painted.  
  
Karkat hopped back and looked at Gamzee’s face, but he still frowned. Something wasn’t coming together the way he wanted.  
  
“Murfle, close your eyes,” he ordered.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Close your eyes, fuckpan!”  
  
Gamzee obliged, and closed his eyes. He heard Karkat ruffle around in some other area of his room, and when he turned his head to listen better, Karkat snapped at him, “I said don’t look!”  
  
“Not looking…”  
  
In a minute, Karkat returned and Gamzee heard another spurt of makeup leave the tube. Then Karkat climbed back onto Gamzee’s lap and mashed one big open-hand against his nose. Gamzee grimaced as Karkat pushed as hard as he could onto the nub of cartilage, but he soon released Gamzee and declared, “Done!”  
  
Gamzee opened his eyes, and looked at Karkat. The little boy was wearing probably the most genuine smile he had ever seen.  
  
“Mirror, mirror!” Karkat scrambled away to find a hand mirror while Gamzee surveyed the mess Karkat had left with his greasepaint on the table. Basically all of the tubes were ruined, but… he saw some splotches of red? Red to match Karkat’s blood. Where did he get red from?  
  
“Here!” Karkat returned with the reflective surface and held it up for Gamzee. Karkat had decided to paint Gamzee’s face with long stripes in various shades of grey, about the size of his child fingers. There were two long three-fingered streaks along each of his cheeks, and two stripes on his chin, in addition to a large pale splotch above the eye that Karkat poked. But the centerpiece of his masterpiece was the bright red handprint Karkat had placed on Gamzee’s nose.  
  
“Motherfuck…” Gamzee breathed, and Karkat giggled. Merciful Messiahs, this was a work of madness and stupidity all up on his face the likes of which only a child could conceive. A part of Gamzee felt a boiling rage that one of his religious symbols had been turned into a wiggler’s plaything. This face meant nothing, this face made a mockery of the way Gamzee chose to present himself,  _devote_  himself to higher powers!  
  
Karkat giggled, and Gamzee looked away from the mirror. The young boy still had a fistful of red paint on his hand, and he slapped his own nose with it, giving himself a red handprint in the center of his face.  
  
“I look like you, Murfle!” he said.  
  
And there went the rage, obliterated like a pinch of special stardust in a strong breeze. Karkat grinned, so motherfucking  _happy_  that he had the chance to put the patterns and color that mattered to him on his caretaker’s face. And fuck, it was in Gamzee’s name to be one with all the japes and tricks that made a motherfucker happy. The Mirthful should inspire mirth in others, shouldn’t he?  
  
“We gotta take a picture of this wicked-ass masterpiece we got going on,” Gamzee told Karkat. The child climbed up onto Gamzee’s lap while Gamzee took a palmhusk and rotated the front-facing camera. He and Karkat smiled as Gamzee snapped the picture.  
  
“How’d you make red, motherfucker?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Chalk!” Karkat said. “I made my red chalk be dust and mashed it with the paint…” He slapped his hands together, spreading the red mess between the two of them. “Wear colors more often, okay, Murfle?”  
  
“That’s not what I’m all up and about, little bro,” he answered. “But you can wear whatever fucking makeups you want.”  
  
“Hmmm… No.” Karkat decided. “I don’t wanna wear makeups.”  
  
“Suit yourself, bro,” Gamzee grabbed the towel to wipe off his makeup, but Karkat grabbed onto the corner of the cloth.  
  
“Nooo!”  
  
“What now?”  
  
“Get it off me.”  
  
Gamzee sighed and took the towel to clean Karkat of his red nose, then resumed his original plan.  
  
“ _NOOO!_ ”  
  
“What, motherfucker?!”  
  
“Leave it on.”  
  
“I don’t want to.”  
  
“Leave it!”  
  
“Little bro, this is what I believe! I gotta have some proper motherfucking paints on my face.”  
  
Karkat tugged the towel free from Gamzee’s hand and carried it away with him. “Let’s do a puzzle.”  
  
“You listening to me, motherfucker?”  
  
“Just a little more!” Karkat insisted. “I don’t wanna go away!”  
  
“You’re not going anywhere!”  
  
“Fucknose, your  _paint!_  Don’t make the paint go away!”  
  
Gamzee tugged on his hair. It was bad enough he took a picture of this wicked nonsense on his face, but the longer he left it on the more likely someone other than Karkat would see. But dammit, Karkat would not stop pouting at him about it!  
  
“Fine, you win. Are you motherfucking happy?” Gamzee stood and engaged the lock on Karkat’s door. Now only the Compasse could enter, and even she would be faced with an alarm and a ten-second delay before the door would yield.   
  
“Yeah,” Karkat said, almost sounding bored as he dumped out the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. “Murfle, do the middle part!”  
  
“Fine, fine…”  


* * *

  
After the party and the accompanying rite of passage calmed down, Karkat and Gamzee’s routine resumed. But in the weeks following, Gamzee and Karkat had the unfortunate and most unlucky habit of running into the Seafarer. Gamzee and the seadweller barely spoke a word to each other, and Karkat invariably hid behind Gamzee’s leg when they met, and he was sullen for hours after an encounter with him, not even when Gamzee made his silliest faces or honked his horn. The mood would eventually pass, and Gamzee wasn’t too worried about it. The older Karkat got, the less he’d fear the Seafarer.  
  
On one of Gamzee’s holy days—a minor one put in the calendar just to needle the Compasse, but seeing the way Karkat frowned and nearly cried when Gamzee left made him consider asking the Empress to remove it—he returned to find that his charge was in one of those sour moods.  
  
“I wanna make a cake for Feffy,” Karkat declared without even saying hello.  
  
“Now?”  
  
“Now!”  
  
Gamzee lowered an arm for Karkat to climb aboard, but he stayed on the ground. “I can walk myself!” he spat, and folded his arms. “Now where do we go?”  
  
Gamzee just smiled—so headstrong, as always—and led Karkat to the nutrition block. There were a few cooks around doing their cook-thing, but Gamzee found a bit of prep surface to reserve for Karkat’s use. The young boy climbed a few drawers so he could stand on the counter.  
  
“Get me a bowl, fuckhead,” Karkat said.  
  
“Bitchtits,” Gamzee said, turning to acquire the item.  
  
“And flour, and sugar, and milk!”  
  
Once Gamzee retrieved all Karkat’s requests, the wiggler began ‘baking,’ which at first meant throwing fistfuls of flour and sugar into the bowl until he felt he had achieved a correct ratio, and then trying to pour the milk. Gamzee reached out a hand to help him, but Karkat snarled and made him step back. He hugged the jug and tried to balance it, but most of the milk flooded the bowl anyway.  
  
“SHIT!” Karkat cried. He sounded like a profane squeaker toy.  
  
“Can you put more flour and sugar to balance it out?”  
  
“I was  _gonna_ , shitface!” Karkat scowled and threw more flour and sugar into the bowl, getting lots of it on the counter and himself. “Eggs next, okay?”  
  
Gamzee continued to fetch ingredients at Karkat’s command—eggs, water, chocolate, hard candy—and let the wiggler combine them according to his whims. When he decreed the batter ready, Karkat slopped it into a pan and told Gamzee to heat the oven to the biggest number he knew: five hundred. Gamzee knew that was way too hot for a cake, but Karkat wouldn’t accept any advice right now.  
  
The cake started to smell bad after about ten minutes in the oven, and Gamzee removed the pan to reveal the candy bits Karkat had thrown in were burned.  
  
“Now what, motherfucker?” Gamzee asked.  
  
Karkat scowled at the half-baked, half-burned cake. “Gonna try again,” he said.  
  
And the process repeated two more times; he learned to leave out the candy and chocolate chunks, and did a better job blending everything, but he left the oven too hot and forgot baking powder and soda. The cakes baked until burning, and Gamzee placed the blackened messes all in a row.  
  
“Alright, we gonna try again?” Gamzee said, but he noticed Karkat had started to tremble. Pinpricks of bright red tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes, and he sniffed. “Woah, motherfucker, it’s just cake! It’s no big thing…”  
  
Karkat choked on a sob. “Stupid… useless… FUCK!” he screamed that final word, and continued to howl, tearful floodgates opening. “STUPID FUCKING USELESS BLOODY MOTHERFUCKING SHITPAN GAPER  _DUMB FUCKER_!”  
  
“Shhh, shhhhh!” Gamzee lifted Karkat into his arms, very aware of everyone in the nutrition block staring at them. He absconded from the block, leaving the mess behind, and carried Karkat away, just to give them some privacy to figure out what the motherfuck was bothering the little dude so much. The first vacant place he found was a parlor, so he ducked inside and set Karkat down. His crying had not stopped, nor had his swearing.  
  
“DAMN SHITTY STUPID FUCKING BLOODY STINKING FUCKBUTT MOTHERSHIT…” Karkat had big motherfucking lungs for being such a little dude.  
  
“Hey bro, it’s no big deal! We can just try again, we can get a motherfucking recipe, and some spoons and shit! It’s okay, it’s okay!”  
  
“NO IT’S NOT! I’M STILL A STUPID FUCKING DUMB FUCKER!” Rivers of blazing red flowed down Karkat’s cheeks now, and Gamzee wiped them away with his thumbs.  
  
“What the motherfuck has you saying all that?”  
  
“I’M NOT—I’M NOT—REAL! I’M A SHITTY FUCK BAD… WASTE… FUCK…” The stream of curses started to deteriorate into incoherent sobbing. Gamzee reached to hug Karkat again, but he just flailed and knocked Gamzee’s hand away, soon falling to the floor himself and just sitting there as he continued to cry.  
  
“Shhhh, my invertibrother, just tell me what’s wrong. You weren’t this motherfucking upset when I left, what all up and happened? Feffy came and got you…”  
  
“Yeah…” Karkat continued crying.  
  
“So you kicked the wicked shit with Feffy?”  
  
“’N’ Seafare…”  
  
“Aw, fuck, there’s your problem. He’s a motherfucking bag full of wicked shit slurry.”  
  
“He—He didn’t look at me!” Karkat sobbed. “He just talked—to Feffy—and Feffy wouldn’t talk—unless I did something bad—!”  
  
“You did bad things to make her talk to you?”  
  
“M’just a pet!” Karkat sobbed again. “He’s right, he’s fucking right, I’m not a real troll, I don’t got real blood, m’just so stupid…”  
  
“Woah, hang on motherfucker! You stop that traitorous noise right now!” Gamzee said. “You think your blood isn’t real?”  
  
Karkat kept weeping, and nodded.  
  
“What’s real blood?”  
  
“Green… and blue… and pink… and purple… and yellow… and…” Karkat named most of the colors he knew. “And m’not a real troll cuz I don’t have real blood.”  
  
“Your blood is completely motherfucking real. Can’t you just believe in your own blood? Do I got to make you bleed to show you how real it is?”  
  
Karkat shook his head. “I want  _normal_  blood. I wanna be a real troll.”  
  
“You  _are_  a real troll, motherfucker!”  
  
Karkat shook his head harder, more tears falling.  
  
“Alright, fine. You wanna know the wicked truth about your blood?”  
  
The little troll looked up at Gamzee, but he had doubt in his eyes.  
  
“Your blood is a motherfucking miracle.”  
  
“But miracles are good and people like them!” Karkat argued. “Not stupid shitty fake-blood pets!”  
  
“Little bro, anything in this here magic motherfucking world that doesn’t got an explanation is a motherfucking miracle,” Gamzee explained.  
  
“But—”  
  
“I’m not done talking!” Gamzee cut Karkat off. “Get your listen on to the truth I’m about to drop on your think pan. You hear me, motherfucker?!”  
  
Karkat shut up. Gamzee had never raised his voice at Karkat like that.  
  
“Even if all the sciences in the world knew exactly what wicked force made you have such miraculous cherry apeshit apocalypse blood I’d just put my hands over my hear tunnels and not pay a motherfucking bit of attention. I don’t even wanna know why you’re such a special troll, I just got so many motherfucking faiths for you being the specialest little motherfucker to ever walk this motherfucking planet. I don’t need any more proof but what I got all up in my heart. Don’t you go all telling me that you want normal blood because you can’t throw away the miracle in your veins. All of you is made up of motherfucking miracles, Karkat. It’s the greatest miracle and I’m proud to witness it.”  
  
At Gamzee’s words, Karkat flung his messy self into Gamzee’s arms, clinging to him like a lifeline. Gamzee caught and cradled Karkat close.  
  
“You hear that, motherfucker? You’re a miracle. Don’t ever wish to be unmiraculous again.”  
  
“I—I won’t…” Karkat mumbled into Gamzee’s shirt. His fingers curled in the fabric and Gamzee felt two small, wet pinpricks soak through.  
  
“Shhhhh… Shhhh…” Gamzee gently rocked Karkat, much like he had seen the Compasse do when Karkat was much younger. He usually wouldn’t tolerate such gentleness now, but he held close to Gamzee and accepted the soothing touch and speech. And as Gamzee held Karkat close, he felt a white fire deep inside of him that wanted to make sure Karkat never cried again. And since he didn’t know what to do about that, he just focused on Karkat, and cradled him until his red tears ended.


	5. The First Set of Answers

Gamzee’s life as Karkat’s caretaker had a few Before and After moments, where nothing Gamzee knew about his young charge applied anymore. He remembered the day Karkat didn’t cry when he woke up, and never again cried at sundown. He remembered the day Karkat started to splash in the shallows with the Compasse. He remembered when Karkat started to read to Gamzee, often incorrectly and with lots of inaccurate judgments, but story time meant  _Karkat_  was the storyteller. All bets were off.  
  
One of those events happened shortly after Karkat’s third wriggling day. He discovered romance.  
  
It started with fairy tale movies, film adaptations of the stories the Compasse liked to read to him: classics like The Autocrat and the Ribbitbeast, The Hooded Archthief, and Pupa Pan. And of course, when the story is a feature film instead of a short story, they had to find some way to pad out the run time, which meant adding numerous romantic subplots. Karkat had been exposed to the idea of the quadrants before—“Some trolls have special feelings for each other”—but the movies showed what the bonds of those relationships looked like. Matesprits, moirails, kismeses, and auspisticees.  
  
Karkat took to the quadrants like he did to swearing: immediately, enthusiastically, and obsessively.  
  
“Hey, Murfle!” Karkat nudged one of his plush toys between Gamzee and his palmhusk, a squishy little cuttlefish, gift from the Compasse. “Glibby Glub feels flushed for you.”  
  
“Motherfuck, she does?” Gamzee stared at the little plushie.  
  
“Yeah. She’s trying to think of the funniest joke ever so you’ll be her matesprit.”  
  
“What’s she got up her wicked sleeves so far?”  
  
“Okay, what’s orange… and swims?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“A  _shark_!”  
  
Gamzee just stared at Karkat for a second as the wiggler suppressed giggles.  _But sharks aren’t orange…_  
  
“But that’s not the joke she wants to tell. She’s gonna think of a funnier one,” Karkat pulled Glibby Glub away and preened her tentacles a little. “In the meantime, her kismesis Rabbuff thinks that he might want her to be his matesprit instead. But he’s still really confused. He asked his moirail but she’s flushed for Glibby too so she’s giving bad advice.”  
  
“Who’s Rabbuff’s moirail again?”  
  
“Ribber.”  
  
“Gotcha…”  
  
“But Ribber is in an auspisticeship with Rabbuff’s real matesprit, Elephart, and I’m their auspister, but if Rabbuff goes for Glibby Glub and breaks up with Elephart then there’s a chance Ribber and Elephart are going to  _really_  hate each other and become kismeses.”  
  
“What’s that chance sitting at?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Like, you think it’s gonna up and happen?”  
  
“…Yeah, I think it will,” Karkat said, staring at Glibby Glub’s glass eyes with intense focus, the drama unfolding in his think pan.  
  
“How do you even keep track of all those motherfucking relationships?”  
  
“It’s not hard, Murfle!” Karkat insisted. “Now, are you gonna be flushed for Glibby?”  
  
“Gotta see what her joke is first.”  
  
“She’ll try, but she’s not really that funny. She just wants to impress you. She’s not good at jokes.”  
  
“Yeah, then I think I’d just let her down all motherfucking gentle. We can get our joke on together as friends.”  
  
“Oh, fuck. She’s heartbroken,” Karkat said flatly, but he just trotted away, setting Glibby Glub down among other plushies. “I think she’s starting to hate you now.”  
  
“Alright by me. I don’t I hate her like that, but if she feels like coming at me with her wicked spades there’s not much I can do about it.”  
  
“You two might need an auspistice,” Karkat said. “Depending on whether Ribber and Elephart become kismeses I could do that.”  
  
“You got it, motherfucker.”  
  
“Murfle, do you have a matesprit?”  
  
“Nah, motherfucker.”  
  
“What if Feffy was your matesprit?”  
  
“I don’t got any flushed feelings for my fishy sister. Not sure if I wanna tie my horns to the empire like that, either.”  
  
“Can she be your kismesis?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Moirail?”  
  
“Uh-uh.”  
  
“What if… what if you an’ Seafare hated each other, and Feffy auspitted?”  
  
“Not sure that’s how you say that, but I kinda don’t give a shit about my motherfucking quadrants.”  
  
“Why not!?”  
  
“When they all up and decided I would be the next Grand Highblood the need to get my quadrants on just kinda fell apart, y’know?” Gamzee explained, even though Karkat would most definitely not know how religious politics could affect Gamzee’s relationships.  
  
“Oh… How old are you, Murfle?”  
  
“Hundred and five.”  
  
Karkat’s jaw dropped. “That’s  _SO OLD!_  How are you that old?!”  
  
“I just up and hatched and then I kept living.”  
  
“…I’m three.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“I’m not old.”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
Karkat let the topic drop and went back to arranging his plushies to reflect the epic tangles of their overly complicated relationships. Gamzee looked up at the ceiling and zoned out for a second, considering Karkat’s question. He remembered the little flashes of love, hate, and pity he felt for various trolls through the sweeps, but never anything enduring or even particularly satisfying. Minstrelisters weren’t forbidden from having quadrantmates, but living without them was usually exalted as a sign of devotion, and probably one of the reasons Gamzee appeared a perfect candidate for future Grand Highblood. Really, trying to fill his quadrants while he was Karkat’s protector would be really inconvenient, since the treaty’s terms meant the little troll would always have to be Gamzee’s priority, even higher above the commitment of a relationship.  
  
He glanced over at Karkat. He was in another growth spurt. The fat of his wigglerhood was starting to redistribute to accommodate his new height, which was about the top of Gamzee’s thigh. If he was lucky, Karkat would reach his chest before his titling day.  
  
 _What’s this motherfucker gonna call his wicked self once he’s grown up?_  he wondered. A question for another day.

* * *

  
The quadrant conundrum slipped Gamzee’s mind for a few weeks. He and Karkat fell back into otherwise normal routine. For his pre-sleep story, Karkat had chosen to sit in the middle of Gamzee’s cross-crossed legs and read aloud to his guardian from a book. He mispronounced a few words, and sometimes stopped the story to editorialize about what he thought should happen next, but Gamzee didn’t interrupt Karkat’s narration unless he specifically wanted to know the correct way to say a particular word. He just listened to the way Karkat spoke, warm and comfortable and petting Karkat’s hair lightly, until the boy finished the story or got bored of reading and wanted to go to sleep.  
  
When the story was over, Karkat clumsily rolled off of Gamzee’s lap and plodded over to his recuperacoon. “Don’t lift me, fuckstain,” Karkat reminded Gamzee, but exhaustion had turned his volume down. “I can climb in.”  
  
“Sure thing, bro,” Gamzee stepped back and waited for Karkat to slide into the slime, no basket required. When Karkat was nestled in nicely, Gamzee ruffled his hair one last time. “Sleep well, motherfucker.”  
  
“You too, Murfle,” he answered, and closed his eyes.  
  
Gamzee smiled, bloodpusher clenching with an odd little burst of joy, and he leaned down to kiss Karkat’s forehead… but stopped.  
  
What the fuck.   
  
What the  _fuck_!?  
  
Had Gamzee lost his motherfucking mind!? Karkat was three sweeps! What was he doing, thinking of kissing him like that?! Kisses were for quadrantmates, and Karkat was far too young to be the object of anyone’s feelings like that. Gamzee just got carried away with the impulse. And why did he even have that impulse to begin with?! What quadrant was this even coming from!?  
  
The answer supplied itself instantly: pale. Pale as starlight. This happiness he felt when he saw Karkat happy and safe, the joy of seeing him dream and try and succeed, the satisfaction of knowing that Gamzee mattered to him…  
  
Fuck. Damn motherfucking fuck, this shouldn’t be happening. Why would the Mirthful Messiahs allow something like this to happen, letting one of their devotees fall into pale feelings for child!?  
  
Gamzee fled the block and kept running. The paths of the amphibortress were familiar to him now, and he quickly found the hallway that tapered off into the waterlogged portion of the palace. He waded down into the shallows until the water reached his waist, then he drew the largest breath he could muster, and dove. He hadn’t been in the submerged half of the palace before, but the Compasse had provided him with a very well-drawn map, stating that if he ever needed help during the day he had permission to seek her. A few air chambers dotted the path, but Gamzee knew he had the lung capacity to reach her room. He parted the water with a powerful breaststroke and pulled himself through the hallways, diving deeper and pausing only to equalize the pressure in his inner ear. He soon reached the Empress’s block, and knocked a heavy fist on her door.   
  
The Compasse appeared quickly. “Mirthful!” she said, her voice deeper underwater. “Is something wrong?”  
  
Gamzee had to think to remember the hand shapes, but he signed,  _Karkat is fine. I need to talk._  
  
Her Radiance looked a little puzzled, but she drifted aside and let Gamzee into her apartments, guiding him quickly to one of her personal air pocket lounges. Gamzee surfaced and resumed normal breath, but his makeup had started to run. He covered his face, and the Compasse quickly and intuitively offered Gamzee use of a sanitation block to freshen up.  
  
Once Gamzee had fixed his face enough that he felt comfortable being seen, he left the sanitation block and examined the air lounge. The space had many more columns than other areas of the fortress, likely due to bearing the weight of water above it. There were also an array of artfully arranged holes in the ceiling, a few of which allowed water to spill down into small fountains. The gentle rush of water kept the room from being too oppressively silent. The furniture otherwise resembled other sitting rooms in the palace, though Gamzee had to wonder how they got the pieces down here without waterlogging them to hell and back.  
  
“Now, this is an easier place to converse. Is something wrong, Mirthful?” the Compasse sat in an armchair and gestured for Gamzee to take the opposite sofa. He did, gingerly.  
  
“I think… things are getting a little out of motherfucking control, all in regards to taking care of Karkat,” Gamzee started.  
  
“In what way?”  
  
“In the way I’m feeling about the little dude.”  
  
“Your feelings?”  
  
Gamzee threaded his fingers together and gripped them. “I think I’m starting to feel kinda motherfucking pale for him. It’s a sin before my Messiahs for adults to get their quadrants on with wigglers, and I’m pretty sure it’s a sin before nature itself regardless, so knew I had to tell you the instant I figured this out.”  
  
The Compasse just smiled. “Oh, of course! This is according to plan, actually.”  
  
“According to plan? You had some sort of motherfucking plan to make me feel all kinds of wicked pedophilic about your greatest treasure?!”  
  
“No, no, it’s not like  _that_ , Mirthful. The thing is, you’re miscategorized your feelings as pale in the first place. Your relationship with Karkat, and likely your feelings for him, are modeled on my experience with my predecessor.”  
  
“The last Empress?”  
  
“Tyrian heiresses don’t grow up with a lusus. It’s all up to the current Empress to make sure they are able to fill her flippers when the young one comes of age. We shared so many happy memories together…” The Compasse smiled softly, fondness in her pink eyes. “And I’ve seen the way you and Karkat interact. It’s the spitting image of the way she cared for me!”  
  
“So what’s got you thinking that my categorization of my feelings is all wrong? What  _am_  I feeling?”  
  
“It’s a bit complicated, but think a little harder about this. You care about Karkat, yes?”  
  
“Yeah,” Gamzee admitted.  
  
“You want to make sure nothing bad happens to him?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And even when he throws tantrums, you don’t care for him any less, right?”  
  
“What you call tantrums are just spurts of the righteous rage all up in his wicked little think pan. They’re reasons to respect the motherfucker, not hate on him.”  
  
“Spiritual philosophies aside, I’ve seen the way Karkat insults and roughhives you…”  
  
“It’s nothing a big old troll like me can’t handle, your Radiance.”  
  
“Very well. So, even though treaty instigated your contact with Karkat, it’s fair to say that no matter what happens, you will continue to care for and protect Karkat, is it not?”  
  
The answer was on the tip of Gamzee’s tongue instantly, but it surprised him, and he held it back for a second, before he admitted, “I suppose that’s all pretty motherfucking true.”  
  
“Then, as a closer test for your feelings, do you think you could rely on Karkat in turn for support?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“If you felt sad, or angry, or needed someone to understand your problems, would you go to Karkat for comfort?”  
  
“No, of course not.”  
  
“Do you feel like you want him to protect you?”  
  
“No! I can take care of my own wicked self.”  
  
The Compasse smiled again. “Then your feelings aren’t as pale as you fear. Your affections for Karkat are unconditional, but one-sided. You have no desire for him to treat you like you treat him. If anything, these feelings you have are more in common with what lusii feel for their young charges.”   
  
Gamzee took this information and pondered it a second. He knew so what it felt like to care for Karkat, but if he reversed their roles—a three-sweeper shooshing and caring for him and sending him to sleep—the pale fire spluttered weirdly. But Gamzee didn’t think of himself as a lusus. Between he and the Compasse, Gamzee was the one who knew what living with a lusus was like. An absent and indifferent lusus, but a lusus all the same. How did the Empress know that Gamzee’s feelings for Karkat mirrored the affections of the beasts of Beforus who cared for the young?  
  
“So what was that noise about this being part of some wicked plan of yours at work?”  
  
The Compasse giggled, like playful bubbles. “I wanted you to know what it was like, to form an attachment with someone who needs your help. It’s a benevolent cycle of love and compassion that I believe will be crucial to the continued prosperity of the Beforan empire.”  
  
“Still waiting for the motherfucking punchline…”  
  
“I cannot continue butting heads with the Grand Highblood over these social obligations. I needed the ideology of the entire caste to shift. If, for instance, a future Grand Highblood understood what culling really means, I would be negotiating with a leader who didn’t reject my philosophies on principle. And if you’re sitting here in my parlor, confessing that you feel unconditional love for Karkat, then the plan is already a fantastic success!”  
  
Gamzee responded with his first thought. “That’s pretty fucking manipulative, your Radiance.”  
  
“I have not forced you to change, nor will I. By some measures, you have not changed at all. You remain as faithful and mirthful as ever. I have simply given you the opportunity to see a different point of view. And I’m sure that this experience is completely reconcilable with your faith and responsibilities. Between the two of us, we can find that solution!”  
  
She offered a hand to Gamzee. “The only obligation you have to me is to fulfill the terms of the treaty. But I hope beyond that, we can sustain, if not a friendship, then at least an understanding. In these short sweeps, I think I already understand the perspective of a minstrelister much more! For the sake of Karkat, we should do our best to get along.”  
  
Gamzee looked at her hand. The Compasse had said an awful lot of things that made sense in a logical way, but Gamzee never liked following his head. His heart was usually more honest.  
  
Regardless of heart or head, he shook her hand, not necessarily because he believed her, but because his life would be easier if the Compasse was right.


	6. Memory and Meaning

_Like a lusus, huh?_  
  
Gamzee swam back to dry land and returned to his respiteblock, his wet feet slopping on the stone floors the whole way. He cleaned his face and slid halfway into his recuperacoon, then leaned on the edge and stared at the little light of the peaceful grubmic across the dark room.  
  
 _Would a lusus want to kiss their wiggler?_  Gamzee realized he never got a chance to explain to the Compasse how he discovered these supposedly pale feelings in the first place. But if she was planning on Gamzee feeling like this, then maybe she already knew better than he did? Would the Compasse’s analysis change if Gamzee reported that he nearly kissed Karkat? Would she throw him out as a pedophile? Getting out of his ‘coon to swim all the way back to the Compasse for that footnote seemed… wrong. Messaging her about it would be too distant, almost cowardly. Her Radiance had this situation tied up with a pretty fuchsia bow and clearly did not expect it to bother her further.  
  
Fuck. Gamzee did not accept this treaty out of a hidden desire to re-enact some kind of pale Trollita fantasy. Gamzee’s own salvation aside, Karkat deserved better than an adult worming his way into his pale quadrant before he even got the chance to grow up and decide for himself who he wanted to be pale for. Gamzee wished he could look into the future and see how it all ended, because if it ended with him papping this wiggler then he’d bash his own skull in with a juggling club.  
  
So… if Gamzee was Karkat’s lusus, should he try harder to act like a lusus? Should he start ignoring Karkat and dole out attention sparingly? Should he eat some of Karkat’s favorite possessions? Should he disappear for perigees at a time? No, he would never. Gamzee could just picture how Karkat would cry, and Gamzee knew he would drop what he was doing to make that crying stop.   
  
 _Is that what a lusus does?_  Gamzee thought his experience with his lusus was very common when he was growing up. Other trolls his caste and age reported similar family lives. The breeds of lusus that choose purplebloods tended to be… temperamental. Purple wigglers needed protection far less than other castes, and since many purple lusus breeds were half-landbeast, half-seabeast, they often disappeared into the sea where their young charges could not follow. When Gamzee was older, he learned that other castes had more attentive lusii, but that never really _meant_  anything to him. It wasn’t like he could change the past. But now, he wondered: what was it like to grow up with a present lusus? One who listened? Who stayed?  
  
Karkat probably knew more about that than Gamzee did.  
  
 _Like a lusus…_  
  
If this was what a lusus felt like, then Gamzee should just continue as if nothing had happened, right? Like he hadn’t just flipped his own shit about his feelings for Karkat in a great crisis of love and sin and morality. Just… don’t even think about kissing his face. Never think about that ever again.  
  
Gamzee managed to sleep eventually, but he didn’t sleep well.

* * *

  
Karkat, of course, noticed nothing.  
  
He hadn’t seen Gamzee abscond. He didn’t know he sought the Compasse’s advice. He didn’t realize his guardian nearly kissed him. The next morning, Karkat woke on his own, cleaned and dressed himself, and when Gamzee arrived, shoved a movie at him.  
  
“I wanna watch this,” he announced. No wariness, no fear, just a need he wanted Gamzee to address.  
  
“…Sure thing, motherfucker.”  
  
Gamzee started putting more distance between himself and Karkat, physically, whenever possible. He stopped offering to carry Karkat. He had always at least presented his arm because the little dude’s tiny legs wore out so fast, but Karkat was getting less patient with Gamzee’s offers, insisting he could walk on his own. He seemed to appreciate the apparent sign that Gamzee believed in his own mobility, but he did not take as kindly to other ways that Gamzee tried to separate them. He’d offer his charge the most appealing chairs or cushions he could find, but if Karkat wanted to sit on something, he preferred Gamzee. He viewed his proxy culler’s body as little more that a piece of furniture, but dammit, it was his  _favorite_  piece of furniture, and he demanded to sit or recline on him with no regard for Gamzee’s crisis of parental or pale feelings. Karkat’s trust stirred ambivalent feelings: he appreciated that trust more than he could say, but knew that Karkat’s trust gave him dangerous amounts of power.  
  
Karkat dragged Gamzee back into a normal routine, or what passed for normal that perigee. Like the Compasse predicted, Karkat seemed like a new troll every time Gamzee turned around—save a few constants—and his shifting interests kept things from getting boring. Nearly a sweep after that fateful cake-baking incident, Karkat wanted to return to the nutrition block to try again, this time with recipes for cakes, brownies, and Gamzee’s specialty, pies. Baking didn’t really hold his interest, and he frequently got bored and pushed the project into Gamzee’s hands, sticking around to monitor that everything was being done correctly but otherwise kicking back. He liked eating baked goods more than he liked creating them. Gamzee quickly learned that when Karkat said “I want to bake something” he meant “I want you to bake something for me.” Occasionally he’d take over steps of the recipe when he felt Gamzee was doing something wrong, but most of the time he’d just sit on the counter and ‘supervise.’  
  
Baking was easy, sort of. Gamzee could make just about any pie on autopilot, and he had Karkat ready to shout at him if he started going off the rails of other recipes. It was so easy to just listen to him, but in light of his new epiphanies, getting his zone on while baking just gave him time to dwell.  
  
“Hey, little bro?” Gamzee spoke up. Karkat had stolen the spoon from him to demonstrate his sloppy but obviously superior stirring technique. “What do you think of me?”  
  
Karkat jammed the spoon around the bowl. “You’re okay,” he said.  
  
“Just okay?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I mean, what else do you want to be, shitfart? Feffy is bossy, Seafare is mean, Tutor is stupid, but you’re okay.”  
  
“I guess I was just all up and wondering what makes a motherfucker all okay by you, y’know?”  
  
Karkat frowned. “I don’t get it.”  
  
“Why do you think I’m okay?”  
  
The wiggler poked the dough more. “Your face is stupid, but it’s funny. You play games right. You say the words Feffy says I shouldn’t say.”  
  
“Motherfucker, I  _taught_  you the words she doesn’t want you to say.”  
  
Karkat leaned his head to the side. “What? How?”  
  
“You were just the littlest dude! The day we met, you learned how to say ‘fuck.’”  
  
“No way. That didn’t happen.”  
  
“Motherfucker, I was there. You were less than a sweep, just a few weeks out of your cocoon all running around and shit. And you bit my hand, and I said ‘fuck,’ and you didn’t stop fucking saying ‘fuck’ since.”  
  
“I don’t remember any of that!” Karkat flung down the spoon in frustration.  
  
Gamzee blinked at Karkat for a second. It hadn’t occurred to him that Karkat might not remember the day they met. Sure, the change of paint the next day had thrown the little wiggler for a loop, but had his arrival really left such a small impression on Karkat? “You really got no clue what I’m talking about?”  
  
“There was never a day we met. You’ve just always been here,” Karkat folded his arms. “When I  _hatched_? Stupid.”  
  
“I wasn’t.”  
  
“Yes, you were!”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Yes, you  _were_ , you bilgeshit stupid uglyface! You’ve always been here! Everyone just lives at the palace and that’s where I live too so I see them a lot.”  
  
“You know there are people outside the palace, right?”  
  
“They’re stupid. I don’t care about them.”  
  
“Aw, but maybe some of them are gonna be your friend.”  
  
“Who cares? You’re my best friend.”  
  
“I’m your best friend?”  
  
“Yeah, nooksuck. You said I’m your best friend… right?”  
  
Even if Karkat couldn’t remember the day they met, he remembered Gamzee’s declaration crystal-clear. Best friends, huh?  
  
“You’re damn right I’m your motherfucking best friend,” Gamzee answered. He made a fist and offered it to Karkat, who made his own much tinier fist and bumped it with Gamzee’s. The older troll picked up the spoon and—with permission—resumed stirring under Karkat’s careful supervision.  
  
Gamzee stared into the spiral whorls of his stirring. The Compasse said he was Karkat’s lusus, Karkat said he was his best friend, and Gamzee… didn’t know what to say. He had hoped that Karkat’s input would balance the Compasse’s judgment and help Gamzee understand.  
  
 _Well… If Karkat’s happy, what the fuck does it matter?_  
  
If only he could be happy with an answer like that.  
  


* * *

  
At three and a half, Karkat’s interests shifted away from toys and cuddly fake animals into books and movies. Anything that told a story, he devoured like he was a ravenous cholebear and the story was a bloody steak. He started reaching for harder and harder books, and took personal offense whenever his tutor proposed anything too easy.  
  
“What are you doing, asking me to read this?! Do you have a hunk of shit in your skull instead of a brain!?” the little troll accused his tutor as he slammed his hands down on the table. “A grub would feel insulted if you gave it this to read! It’d scrawl out a big ‘fuck you’ in its own poop!”  
  
The tutor blinked. “I—I’m sorry?” they stammered.  
  
“Get me something  _hard_ , shithead!”  
  
The tutor dug in their bag and managed to find a thicker book with smaller print. “Well, we could read from this one instead, but it’s intended for ages four and up, so you’ll probably—”  
  
“Do you think four-sweeps are a pile of dumbfucks? They could read something like this no problem! Maybe you think it’s too hard for me because  _you_  can’t read it!”  
  
So the poor tutor opened the harder book and, as predicted, Karkat could barely read a sentence. But, he grabbed the book, held it so tightly his claws pierced the cover, and kept sounding out the words and looking them up and reading again until he understood. It took hours and derailed the tutor’s lesson plan, but Karkat read three whole pages and demanded the chance to try again tomorrow.  
  
Gamzee wondered if Karkat might be experiencing his first black crush toward the written word. Whenever he studied, he scowled like he wanted nothing more than to punch the book in its papery face. He kept insisting that his lessons include harder words, more advanced grammar, longer passages, and rather than give up and declare reading “too hard,” he worked for hours until he mastered it and then demanded something harder. He wanted to make literacy his bitch. Show it who was boss.   
  
Karkat had started to scowl more in general. He lost interest in his old favorite games. He rarely climbed on Gamzee for the fun of it. His cuddle toys started to gather dust. Running, playing pretend, and swimming barely held his attention.  
  
The Compasse did not seem to catch on. Gamzee had born witness to many occasions when Karkat, fresh out of tutoring, would meet with her Radiance and report what he had learned that day. No matter what he mastered—new words, new mathematic concepts, new sciences—the Compasse cooed and told him, “Very good, Karkat! You’re so smart!” But for two sweeps she had been giving Karkat that reply, and it no longer seemed to satisfy him.  
  
“Feffy, where does my tutor get all their books?” Karkat asked.  
  
“They’re selections from the palace libraries. Many of them are the same books that taught me to read!” the Empress giggled.  
  
“I already  _know_  how to read,” he grumbled.  
  
“There’s always more to learn. Just keep trying.”  
  
“Can I go pick my own books?”  
  
The Compasse frowned a little. “Why? Aren’t the tutor’s books interesting?”  
  
“No. They suck. I want books that don’t make me want to scoop my brain out with a shovel.”  
  
“I can speak to the tutor about finding different books for you to read,” the Compasse conceded.  
  
“And?”  
  
“And what?”  
  
“Can I go to the library!?”  
  
“I have an idea, Karkat! Why don’t you tell the tutor what you  _want_  to read about, and they’ll find the books for you!”  
  
“Why can’t I find them myself?!” Karkat curled his fists at his sides.  
  
“There are far too many books, and it’ll be too hard for you to find what you’re looking for.”  
  
Uh oh. The Compasse had said those hated words:  _too hard_. Karkat’s scowl deepened.  
  
“What’s so hard about going to a fucking library!? If the books are too high, I’ll make Murfle lift me! If the word are too hard, I’ll use a dictionary!”  
  
“What I mean, Karkat, is you shouldn’t learn what some of those books have to say.”  
  
“But the books that don’t say that stuff are god-awful!  _Anything_  would be more interesting than the bilge-shit that the moron tutor keeps bringing!”  
  
“I think you’re getting upset, Karkat. Why don’t we play a game together and calm down?”  
  
“I don’t WANT to calm down! I want to go to the LIBRARY!”  
  
Her Radiance, with her endless compassion, just smiled. “Let’s not fight about this, please. Your tutor selects books that are right for you. They’re not too easy, not too hard, and contain appropriate topics. I can speak with them about branching out, but I will not change my mind.”  
  
Karkat screamed insults at his culler—called her a tyrant, a witch, a barnacle—but the Compasse just let her treasure’s rage wash over her like a gentle current: felt, but easily resisted and swiftly forgotten. When duty called her away, she bade a warm farewell to Karkat as if he hadn’t been howling abuse at her for twenty minutes. Karkat resisted her affections every way he could. He didn’t look her in the face, didn’t say goodbye, didn’t return her hug.  
  
“Fucking asswad jerkfuck…” Karkat grumbled as Gamzee knelt next to him.  
  
“You wanna punch it out, little bro?”  
  
Barely waiting for Gamzee to present his arm, Karkat delivered a swift flurry of blows against Gamzee’s shoulder, grunting with effort as he poured all his strength into the punches. They felt kind of like bumps from a fist-sized legume sack. In a minute, Karkat ran out of energy and stopped, panting.  
  
“Feel better?”  
  
“…No,” Karkat answered. “I still wanna go…”  
  
Gamzee ruffled his hair. “Yeah, it’s a lot of motherfucking noise that the fishy sister won’t let you get your own books.”  
  
“Do you know where the libraries are?”  
  
“One or two of them.”  
  
“Take me.”  
  
“Compasse said no.”  
  
“I don’t give a fuck what Compasse said!” Karkat snarled. “If she gets mad at you, tell her… tell her I wouldn’t calm down! Tell her I broke something! A window!”  
  
“But you haven’t broken a window.”  
  
“I  _will_  break a window.”  
  
“Let’s not all up and use a plan where we got to break any motherfucking windows…”   
  
“Then what should we do!? If I have to spend another night reading this same dumb shit I think I’m going to just walk outside and let the sun turn the insides of my head into the same mush that the writers had in theirs,” Karkat complained, but his volume was a few decibels too quiet to be a genuine threat. He wasn’t about to go sunrunning over a few books.  
  
And then Gamzee got a wicked idea. A beautifully, terribly, wonderfully wicked idea, something that he and Karkat would laugh about when all was said and done. And everyone would end up with what they wanted in the end: Karkat would have his books, the Compasee would have her dreams of a complacent treasure, and Gamzee might teach Karkat a thing or two about what it meant to be a devotee of the Mirthful Messiahs and believer in the Dark Carnival. And to top it all off Gamzee had no trouble justifying the action as something a lusus would do. He’d heard about kids with lusii that pulled shit like this a lot.  
  
“Well, maybe you just gotta keep your eyes open for a miracle, little bro,” Gamzee suggested. “Now c’mon, let’s find something else to do.”  
  
Karkat stomped away, and his guardian followed. The Mirthful’s ever-present smile was a little wider than usual.


	7. Little Red-Blooded Troll

A few days later, Karkat opened up his bedtime storybook and found a very strange paper fall into his lap.

“The fuck…” he put the book down and opened it up. “Murfle, what is this?”

Gamzee peered at the paper. It was a map, marking down Karkat’s block, a maze of hallways and doors, and a block with a very crudely drawn book on it. Gamzee had tried his best to make the map as accurate as possible, but he wasn’t a very good cartographer. Still, the map was serviceable.

“Looks like a map.”

“Did you make this?”

“What? No way, little bro! What would I be doing drawing motherfucking maps and putting them in books?”

Karkat glared at Gamzee, unimpressed. “It was you and I know it!”

“Nuh-uh! It was a miracle!”

The argument lasted for a few minutes, Karkat accusing Gamzee of his involvement in drawing a map and Gamzee blatantly lying about it, until Karkat finally changed the subject. “Fine, bulgesucker. You don’t want to admit you made it. But where does it go?”

“Probably a place with books.”

“A library?”

“Maybe.”

“Let’s go, right now!”

“No way, motherfucker! We’d get in so much trouble!”

“Oh, like you care about that!”

“The only way to go without anyone finding out is to go during the day, when everyone is asleep.”

“You mean… stay up late?”

“Really late.”

Karkat considered this. “Okay. We’ll wait an hour after coontime and then go.”

“I can’t go with you.”

“What?!”

“I need my motherfucking sleep. Eight hours of sopor minimum.”

“But Murfle, I need you!” he whined.

“I’m not going, little bro. You can choose whatever the fuck you want, but I’m not going.”

Karkat looked back down at the map. He would have to break rules to go to the library, and he wouldn’t have any supervision. Well, he would, but he didn’t know that yet.

“Were you gonna read a bit of that story?”

“…Yeah. Right,” Karkat put the map down and opened up the book to read aloud to Gamzee. His pulse stayed elevated, and already Gamzee could feel small licks of fear in Karkat’s head. He was nervous, but this was out of Gamzee’s claws now. Karkat would have to make this choice on his own.

* * *

Three nights later, Karkat chose.

Gamzee turned the sensitivity of the grubmic up to detect most any movement in Karkat’s block. The first day he had the map, Gamzee heard Karkat get out of his recuperacoon and walk around his block, but the door never opened. He stayed in his block and eventually went back to sleep. The second day, he heard nothing. Karkat stayed in the slime and presumably slept. But the third day, Gamzee heard Karkat leave the safety of his coon, make small noises, and then open the door.

Time to act.

Gamzee easily followed Karkat’s fearful mind as he leaves his block and enters the passageway. Ahead, he could see a patch of light; a flashlight, likely the one they had used ages ago to play with shadow puppetry (Karkat had loved how the light could make his shadow bigger and taller than Gamzee). He tried to move as quietly as he could, hugging close to the walls, but Karkat had no practice sneaking around and no psychic ability to conceal his movements. Gamzee had both, and he stalked the little red-blooded troll through the halls.

Karkat quickly arrived at the library and ducked inside, shutting the door behind him. Gamzee waited outside until he felt Karkat’s psychic presence walk away from the door, then followed his charge. The library was full of vaulting arches and bookcases twice as tall as Gamzee, with windows covered by blackout curtains. Karkat’s fear faded away, replaced by some other feeling Gamzee couldn’t sense, but the little troll’s flashlight kept his location very easy to track.

The wiggler’s footsteps echoed through the aisles as he began to explore, searching for some sign of which books he wanted to read. Gamzee chose an aisle two away from Karkat, found a thick book at about his eye level, and tugged it off the shelf. A deafening _THUD_ resounded through the empty library, and Gamzee heard Karkat scream a little bit.

_What the fuck?! Is someone here?!_

Karkat put his flashlight out and stayed where he was. Gamzee could hear his terrified thoughts spinning like a hurricane, but he stayed motionless. Would Karkat take this as a reason to leave? Would he give up?

In a few minutes, Karkat’s flashlight flickered back to life, and he resumed exploring. Gamzee could hear Karkat pull books off the shelf, examine them, and replace most of them but keep a few. Gamzee kept pace with Karkat as he wandered the shelves, and decided to make another move. He selected another book, higher and heavier, and let it fall.

**_THUD._ **

_What was that?! Oh god what was that oh fuck no oh no oh fuck no no!_

Karkat’s brain shrieked in fear, but tandem to the panic Gamzee could sense another dimension to his thoughts, like a harmony. _Don’t run. You have to do this. You can’t give up._

Oh. By the grace of the Messiahs, Gamzee had never expected this. He had just thought he’d play a few pranks on his friend, but now… The minstrelisters only honored trolls from other blood castes who could endure exposure to chucklevoodoos and face the terror without flinching. How much fear would Karkat endure just to get what he wanted? Would he ride this rebellion to the end?

Gamzee smiled, and reached in his mind to draw out the psychic horrors. With just a light hiss of an exhale between his teeth, the light flickered and shadows twisted around him. Karkat gripped the flashlight and his hard-selected book tighter, trying to cast the light in such a way that the shadows vanished, but no such angle existed. Karkat would keep seeing horrors until Gamzee made them leave.

 _You have to keep going!_ Karkat thought. _You might not get another chance! It’s just the stupid light!_

After a few minutes of hyperventilation, Karkat started to walk again, pulling down more books and examining their titles. The undercurrent of fear persisted, but Karkat valiantly ignored it. Gamzee smiled a little, both proud and satisfied. It wasn’t often he got the chance to expand his own head like this. It was like taking off a cast after weeks and feeling cool air on his skin again for the first time in who knew how long. The use of his sixth fear-sense felt… exhilarating.

Gamzee continued walking beside Karkat a few aisles away, gradually increasing the psychic pressure. He started to see actual visions of fear crystalize in Karkat’s mind: He feared cages. He feared weakness. He feared abandonment. The longer Karkat stayed in the library, the more the shadows started to look like prison bars, condescending faces, or the lonely void.

A few times, the fear froze Karkat. He sat on the floor and covered his eyes and willed as hard as possible for his panic to go away, but to no avail. The fear persisted, but so did the other voice in his head: _Keep going. It’s scary, but it’ll be worse if I don’t get what I came for. Get the fuck up. Keep walking._

And Karkat did. Gamzee crept closer, until he was in the same aisle as Karkat, following him at a distance of forty feet. Then thirty. Then twenty. Oblivious to the gigantic troll behind him, Karkat kept scanning the low shelves for books, choosing one to add to the four titles already tucked under his arm. Every part of him trembled, but Gamzee could see Karkat’s determined face through all the fear.

Time to pull out all the stops. Gamzee silently slipped a book off a shelf and tossed it over Karkat’s head, so it would land on the opposite side of him. With another _THUD_ , Karkat whipped his light to face the sound, and in the moment of distraction Gamzee knelt and leaned close to Karkat. The instant he turned around, he’d be face-to-face with Gamzee and the Terrighteous Skull paint.

Just as predicted, once Karkat identified the book as a simple falling distraction, he turned to face the other direction.

“AAAAAAAAAAA!” he screamed.

“AHAHAHAHA—!” Gamzee laughed, lips curled wide and tongue hanging out of his face, but he found his terrifying jubilation cut short when something clocked him right in the nose, hard and fast and oh fuck, _fuck_ , that _hurt_ , fucking dammit!

Gamzee reeled back and covered his hands on his nose, dabbing lightly at the wetness beneath it. Was he… was he bleeding? He pulled a hand away and saw a few smears of purple on his fingers. With ginger exploration, he realized the cartilage had been dislocated. He snarled and popped it back into place. Motherfuck, that hurt!

“M… Murfle?” Karkat squeaked.

Gamzee looked up at the wiggler and saw dabs of purple on his tiny knuckles. He couldn’t help but chuckle. Fear had a way of drawing out strength trolls never realized they had, and he couldn’t deny how hilarious it was teensy little Karkat had managed to hurt him.

“Right here, motherfucker,” Gamzee said. He pulled small cloth out of his pocket and wiped away the blood.

“You… followed me?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“To make sure nothing worse happened to you… but also to give you a scare,” Gamzee admitted the second reason with a small smile.

“So all the noises… and the dark… was you?”

“It’s a little complicated, but yeah.”

Karkat’s eyes filled with tears, and he sniffed.

“Aw, no… Shit, I’m sorry, best friend… I wanted to scare you, but I promise I won’t do it again. I just wanted to show you more about what it is I got my believe on to… and show you how brave you are…”

Gamzee reached out toward Karkat, but the little troll shook his head and shuffled back.

“…Best bro?”

“I…” Karkat hiccuped. “I need… I need new clothes…”

“What?” Gamzee’s nose was not quite ready to smell again, but he looked over Karkat’s body and noticed a dark patch between his legs. “Oh.” The best he could do was give Karkat the handkerchief he’d used to wipe his bloody nose and hold that in front of him. Regret chased away the feelings of pride Gamzee had been filled with just minutes before. The price of showing Karkat the limits of his courage had been his young friend’s dignity and happiness.

“I’m sorry,” Gamzee said. “I’ll carry your books back. You get some fresh threads, and then come to my block. I’ll explain what was running through my think pan.”

Karkat wiped his eyes and agreed.

* * *

Karkat knelt on the floor of Gamzee’s respiteblock, the first time he had been inside his guardian’s place of rest. The place was rather messy, but at least there were no compromising artifacts left out that he’d have to explain. They left the lights off, and Gamzee prepared five tapers on a candelabra for light instead. Basically every segment of the Church was a laughing matter, but for Karkat’s sake, Gamzee would keep this explanation serious. As a final preparation, he dipped his fingers in special flash powder and then sat cross-legged before Karkat, placing the candles between them.

“Some trolls worship the Mother Grub, who created the world as a home for her brood,” Gamzee began. He snapped his fingers, and a flash of fire ignited the leftmost candle. Karkat flinched, but said nothing. “Some say the whole universe is clumps of stardust and everything’s getting bigger forever.” He snapped, and lit the rightmost candle. “Some say that six angelic children sang in a chorus, and their song is the fabric of the universe.” Another snap, another candle. “Some say that a rainbow melted and gave maggots the power to evolve into trolls.” Four candles aflame now, and the centermost remained unlit.

“You don’t believe that,” Karkat said, still watching Gamzee a little warily. “You believe in the Mirthful Messiahs.”

Gamzee smiled a little, snapped his fingers one last time, and the final candle burst into light.

“You’re always telling me about them. I get it.”

“No, you don’t. I tell you the stories, about the Ringmaster and the Riddle Box and such. You don’t know what it all means, my invertibrother.”

“Then what does it mean? Did the Messiahs make the world?”

“The Church don’t care much for the origin of the universe. We’re more concerned with the ultimate destiny of souls.”

“They die?”

“There’s a part that comes after,” Gamzee said. “The Messiahs are the masters of the ultimate reward for living a just life, a paradise that will arise on a planet that does not yet exist.”

“How do you know it’s gonna exist if it doesn’t?”

“It’s written in the Testament.”

“So just because a book told you?”

“If you don’t believe that books say important things, why did you break the rules to go to the library and get some?”

Caught, Karkat puffed his cheeks a little. “So then what?”

“When a person dies, their soul passes on to a realm called the Dark Carnival.”

“Where all the minstrels live, right?”

“Yep. And the minstrels subject all the souls that pass through there to great tests of righteousness and sin. The Messiahs’ Jokers are there to draw out your greatest sins and failures, and if your soul is pure you will continue on to meet the Messiahs in paradise. If you’re not pure, your soul will be condemned to hell.”

Karkat stared at the candles rather than Gamzee for a second. “So then… why did you scare me?”

“The minstrelisters believe that the Dark Carnival is a prelude to the Messiahs’ paradise. Whatever we find there is going to be a lot like what we find on the paradise planet, and from the Testament we know it’s gonna be… a little spooky.”

“No shit.”

Gamzee chuckled a little, but Karkat kept a straight face.

“You still haven’t told me why you scared me.”

“The Church holds that the Dark Carnival is not a place to be feared. Fear and joy are the same thing given different names. So are pain and pleasure, or hate and love. The Church imitates an earthly Dark Carnival and creates a space for us to practice arts that will please the minstrels.”

“So do you have to make the minstrels laugh or they won’t let you go to paradise?”

“Yes and no. The funniest of motherfuckers aren’t necessarily good people deserving a place in paradise. For believers in the Church, the goal is to spend as much of existence as part of the Dark Carnival as possible.”

“But you’ve got paradise waiting for you if you’re good!”

“The Carnival is the rarest of motherfucking opportunities to just… let all the motherfucking shit go. The ability to create fear and feel joy all in one go. It’s the greatest miracle to ever exist, full of danger and wonder, and we want to be part of it as long as possible.”

“You can create fear?”

Gamzee nodded. “You’ve started reading about abilities common for different blood colors?”

“Yeah.”

“Motherfuckers with my blood color have psychic control over fear. We call them the chucklevoodoos, and not even we know everything they’re capable of. But we know they can make a motherfucker wicked scared.”

Karkat hugged his arms and lowered his eyes. “So… you were making me feel scared, in the library?”

“I was.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t turn and run. When a motherfucker feels terrified and stands his ground, that’s when you know you’re dealing with greatness incarnate.”

“Greatness?”

“When your terror reared up inside you, you found determination to tell that fucker to be chill. That’s courage, and that’s what you’re full of, my brother.”

Karkat fell silent, and just looked into the firelight. Gamzee could feel him processing all of this new information.

“Can I visit the Church with you?” Karkat asked.

“What?”

“This sounds like something you do with lots of people around. When you’re alone, it doesn’t mean the same. So if I went to Church with you, it’d make more sense.”

Gamzee smiled, and reached across the fire to ruffle Karkat’s hair. “Sure thing, little bro. We’ll ask the Compasse first thing tomorrow.”

Karkat didn’t quite smile, but he didn’t look upset anymore. “I’m gonna sleep now, Murfle.”

“You do that, bro. Sleep tight.”

Gamzee watched Karkat leave, and extinguished the candles one by one. Had he done the right thing, following and scaring Karkat?

His heart said yes. He listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked up actual juggalo songs for you people to figure out what the Church even is or does. You're welcome.


	8. Take Me to Church

The Compasse said no.  
  
“I am perfectly willing to let you share information about your religious beliefs with Karkat, but it’s inappropriate to make him participate in your rituals,” the Compasse explained to Gamzee with pursed lips.  
  
“Hello!?  _I’m_  the one who said I want to go to Church with him!” Karkat stamped his feet for attention. “I’m trying to understand what it all means, and I want to see for myself!”  
  
“Karkat, please wait just a minute,” the Compasse petted Karkat’s head, which just made him shriek in anger, a sound the Empress valiantly ignored. “Mirthful, you can’t seriously be considering making him a convert.”  
  
“I’m not. Don’t quote me on this, but I don’t think my best bro really believes my Messiahs are the truth of the universe. But there’s no reason he can’t at least get his understand on to what I’m all about. Makes his experience of the world a little more rich, y’know? Before…”  
  
Gamzee waggled his eyebrows in a way he thought could communicate he was talking about Karkat’s short lifespan and inevitable demise without actually saying it.  
  
“Could make it part of a more… widespread cultural exchange?” Gamzee continued. “See if he wants to get his believe on to one of the  _many_  miraculous faiths of Beforus.”  
  
The Compasse just shook her head, but she seemed more incredulous than denying. “This is not an appropriate topic for him, at this age. I’ll have to think on when we should beach the subject of religions again.”  
  
“If I’m old enough to ask the fucking questions then I can understand the fucking answers!!! Are you listening to me, you goddamn sea witch!?”  
  
“Not now, Karkat…”  
  
“ _I hope that sea slugs infest your gills and your fins catch fungus and rot!!! Then maybe your superiority complex will fall off too!!!_ ”  
  
Her Radiance just patted Karkat’s head again. “Now, I forgive you for saying that about me, but you need to make sure you treat others with respect. Use your good manners and indoor voice with friends, okay?”  
  
“ _ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING, YOU BARNACLE-ENCRUSTED BITCH!?_ ”  
  
Gamzee suggested to the Compasse that maybe he take Karkat outside to play, and the Compasse serenely agreed. As he watched Karkat shred a howling path of destruction through the flora of the Compasse’s garden, he wondered if this treaty had thrown him into the ashen quadrant, destined to mediate between the Empress and her treasure. He had never really given that quadrant any thought before he saw the way Karkat spat righteous rage at the nigh-immortal Empress.  
  
He thought about the illegal books Karkat had stashed away in his room. He’d chosen four books in total: a book of Beforan nautical history, the volume “U” of the encyclopedia, a collection of essays on culling written by members of every blood caste shortly after the Compasse’s ascension, and a romance novel far steamier than anything Karkat had read before. These books would take him a long time to read, even longer to understand, but their existence pacified Karkat through his lessons, to his poor tutor’s relief. The Compasse had no idea they existed, and Gamzee wanted to keep it that way. When Karkat needed new books, he knew the way to the library, and he’d likely go without consulting Gamzee at all. The old troll figured that was the way it should be.  
  
When Karkat tired himself out, Gamzee approached, sat beside his charge, and offered him a cuddle. The young troll accepted, curling a little fist in Gamzee’s shirt and leaning his head against his chest.  
  
“S’not fair…” he mumbled.  
  
“I know, little bro. I know.” Then again, Gamzee was wrong for the ashen quadrant in the first place. He wasn’t impartial enough. On just about every issue, Gamzee believed Karkat was in the right.

* * *

  
It took half a sweep of begging and bargaining and explaining before the Compasse very reluctantly agreed to let Karkat visit the Church, on a few conditions: he would only observe, he would stay with Gamzee the whole time, and he would not drink the Faygo. Karkat accepted those terms by flinging his hands in the air and crying, “Was that so hard to decide?!” and waited impatiently for Gamzee’s next holiday. The nearest Church was a few hours away by four-wheeled vehicle, but Gamzee had stuck up a friendship with the head minstrelister, a troll known as the Priestly. The Priestly promised to make the mutant welcome after a few cracks about Gamzee bringing “a pint-sized squeakbeast into the honk halls.” Gamzee laughed along, because he knew the Priestly would change his tune once he met Karkat.  
  
Shortly after Karkat’s fourth wiggling day, he and Gamzee journeyed to the nearest city, and then to that city’s outskirts. They saw the flags of the cathedraltop at a distance, black backgrounds with the faces of the minstrels painted on them in colors. Karkat twisted in his seat to stare out the window as they approached.  
  
“…Remember what I told you, little bro,” Gamzee said. “Fear and fun are the same motherfucking thing in the Church. It’s okay to step out if you don’t want to be there anymore, I won’t think less of you. No one will.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And no matter what you see, I’m still gonna be your best friend, okay?”  
  
“Fuck, I  _know_ , Murfle! I’m not going to get freaked out by your clown religion, okay!?” Karkat slapped the vehicle’s door.  
  
“Here, let me check your face…”  
  
Karkat sighed and turned around for Gamzee to examine his paint. The elder troll was wearing the witlicking paint to show respect to the Priestly and his jurisdiction, even if Gamzee outranked him. The younger wore the wiggler’s swirls, which didn’t consist of a full face of paint: just the outline of a fanged skull tranced on his upper cheekbones and under his nose, with a set of matching spirals on his cheeks. Young devotees weren’t forbidden from full faces of paint, but in the presence of adults their status as juveniles had to be displayed. No one would confuse Karkat for an adult, but tradition demanded obedience.  
  
“It’s itchy,” Karkat complained.   
  
“You can poke, but don’t scratch.”  
  
Karkat kept grumbling as the vehicle deposited them at the front of the cathedraltop, then fell silent when he saw the tall double doors. The handles were too high for Karkat to reach, even if he jumped. Gamzee grabbed the shoulder-level handle, twisted the bolt, and pushed the door open. The entrance had a round holding area, currently filled with roughly two dozen adults, cracking open the wicked elixir and catching up with each other after separation. Gamzee smiled and drew a deep breath.  
  
“HONK HONK, MOTHERFUCKERS!” Gamzee bellowed, and the collected trolls jumped and turned to him. Several cheered in response, and one bent-horned troll approached him.  
  
“Wicked motherfucking blessings, Mirthful!” the Priestly clapped Gamzee on the shoulder, hard enough to send chilly stings through his body. “How’s your bitching ninjalicious self?”  
  
“Wicked blessings back, and my self is full of motherfucking miracles,” Gamzee answered, slapping a hand on his arm in return. “I brought the little motherfucker, like I said.”  
  
The Priestly leaned down to look at Karkat. “Yeah, you did! Hey, do you really got redpop in your veins, motherfucker?”  
  
“It’s not redpop, you shitlicking heap of rotten grubloaf,” Karkat scowled at the larger troll. “It’s not soda, it’s not candy, it’s  _blood_ , and it’s  _red_. Got it, fucker?”  
  
The Priestly threw back his head and howled with laughter. “You weren’t kidding! This motherfucker is full of the righteous harshwhimsy!” When his laughter subsided, he asked, “What’s your name, little redblood?”  
  
“Karkat,” he answered. “I’m four sweeps.”  
  
“Hey, Mileko is five!” The Priestly shouted over his shoulder: “Mileko, get your ass over here!”  
  
A young beanpole of a troll with a heavy overbite and reverse-curling horns peeked around the adults and approached. His facepaint matched Karkat’s, and though the mutant looked suspicious of this troll that the adults obviously expected would be his friend, he also seemed a little relieved that he wouldn’t be the only one wearing swirls.  
  
“Mileko, meet Karkat, and our future Grand Highblood, the Mirthful!” the Priestly announced. Mileko looked between Karkat and Gamzee, a little dazed.  
  
“…Woah,” he said. “ _Dude._ ”  
  
“You’re going to be a fountain of wisdom, aren’t you?” Karkat grumbled, but Gamzee wasn’t sure if anyone else heard him.  
  
“Why don’t we get Karkat introduced to all the other motherfuckers?” Gamzee suggested. The four returned to the cluster of adults and got introductions underway: the Riddlist, the Jokester, the Prankish, and the Chuckler. Karkat did an admirable job learning their names in quick succession. As they settled into small talk, the Priestly nudged Gamzee’s elbow.  
  
“C’mon. Let’s prepare the blood.”  
  
Gamzee nodded, gave Karkat a quick pat on the back, and left the room. He was already disobeying the Compasse’s first condition—and would probably disobey all three of them by the end—but he wasn’t about to tell the Compasse about his faith’s every single tradition. Besides, the blessing of blood was a secret ritual for head minstrelisters and higher.   
  
The two trolls departed for a side chapel, which presently contained nothing but raw materials: uncountable gallons of blank paint and bricks of pigment, as well as ten large drums for mixing.  
  
“Do we need to brew up another shade for your little wiggler out there?” the Priestly asked.  
  
Gamzee shook his head. “Nah, leave the little bro out. He’s hardly part of the motherfucking rainbow.” He didn’t admit he mostly wanted red blood excluded from the festivities so Karkat wouldn’t see his own color spill.  
  
He and the Priestly began to measure out large bowls of paint and pigment, blending them together in the drums until a spectrum began to emerge. First a deep burgundy, then a rich mahogany, and a brilliant yellow. Together, they blended greens, then blues, and then at the end of the spectrum, mixed together a bright, vivid violet. Out of respect, they excluded fuchsia, and out of tradition they skipped purple, but their caste would find representation another way.  
  
The Priestly and Gamzee made their final corrections to the shades—a dash more pigment, a splash more paint—then with a nod to each other, took up a small dagger and sliced open one finger each.  
  
“By the grace of the Messiahs, let paint be blood,” the Priestly muttered, squeezing a few drops of his own blood into the gallons of burgundy paint.  
  
Gamzee followed him, adding his own blood to the brown vat, and the olive vat, taking turns with his companion up the hemospectrum. The oldest chapters of the Testament recorded ancient minstrelisters collected their paint from actual dead trolls, usually the ones lost to sunlight, disease, or old age. Though the Church considered it the highest honor to be bled for paint—a blessing that earned even the most sinful heretic a place on the paradise planet—other castes felt horrified and wanted their dead left undisturbed. The switch from organic blood to transubstantiated paint occurred thousands of sweeps before Gamzee hatched, and frankly he preferred the modern way. It was easier to create, and the blessing that turned it into blood barely even hurt.  
  
The two stirred the vats until the drops of purple vanished completely, and then cleaned their cuts and returned to the entrance. It would be the duty of lesser acolytes to bring the freshly blessed blood to the Big Top, as well as prepare it for the night’s ritual. Gamzee found Karkat standing on a low table, putting him at eye-level with the adult purplebloods around him, recounting colorful tales of his life in the amphibiortress.  
  
“…You would not  _believe_  the lengths this insecure barfsponge goes to! I’ve heard him tell the same story about sailing through storms off the coast of Althelney oh god, two dozen times? The only thing ‘magnificent’ about him is his addiction to  _attention_!”  
  
_Yep… the Seafarer._  Gamzee smiled as he approached. Karkat hadn’t noticed him yet, and paused to sip some… yeah, that was a glass of Faygo grape. Another condition busted. But who would tell the Compasse? Certainly none of the minstrelisters hanging onto Karkat’s every word. Who was the religious leader here, Gamzee or Karkat?  
  
In truth, the Priestly was the leader, at least for today. Either out of respect for Karkat’s monologue or curiosity about the little troll, he waited until Karkat paused for another breath before he interrupted.  
  
“Excuse me, my wicked motherfuckers,” he spoke up. “But the way to the Dark Carnival is ready.”  
  
Cheers passed through the assembled believers, and Karkat looked to Gamzee. His wide eyes and painted swirls made him look half his age. Gamzee offered his arms to lift Karkat off his pedestal, and whispered advice on the way down.  
  
“Stick with Mileko. I’ll stay close to you when I can. There’s going to be some motherfucking things you can’t follow me for.”  
  
Karkat nodded and silently held Gamzee’s hand all the way to the Big Top. The main worshiping room of the cathedraltop had very few windows, casting a gloom across piles of various religious implements: juggling implements like balls, clubs, and knives, long swords for swallowing, ropes and bars for aerial maneuvers, and devices with configurations of pedals and wheels meant to bamboozle onlookers.  
  
The Priestly took a pair of clubs and hit them together, a resounding  _CRACK_  echoing through the Big Top. A recording of ancient funky beats started up, and those who recognized the music roared appreciation.  
  
“Now, which motherfucker is going to get their wicked devotions on first?!” the Priestly asked. A few trolls stepped forward, but they wordlessly determined who would go first, the ones stepping down redirecting their motion into taking up another spot in the surrounding circle. The troll in the center, the Jokester, if Gamzee remembered right, brought a dark bottle and a stick with kindling on the end and spun the two around in his hands. Trolls surrounding him hooted and cheered, goading him to “Show us what you motherfucking got!”  
  
After soaking in a little more attention, the Jokester brought the bottle to his lips, swigged, and then struck the stick against an odd stripe on his shirt. Like a match, the end of the stick burst into flame, and the Jokester raised the fire to his mouth and blew, a volcano of fire spewing forth with a roar. Gamzee felt Karkat flinch beside him, but he couldn’t feel Karkat’s fear. A quick glance showed Karkat wasn’t afraid at all: he was amazed, eyes wide and jaw hanging open.  
  
The Jokester blew more plumes of flame into the air, and even directed a few at surrounding trolls. But, the Jokester knew his time in the spotlight would not last forever, and finished his act with a multiplication of his sticks—three in total—which he ignited, and then extinguished by swallowing the flame.  
  
“How did he do that?!” Karkat hissed at Gamee.  
  
“A miracle, motherfucker,” Gamzee replied.  
  
The night continued in that fashion, with trolls stepping into the center to demonstrate some art or talent they had developed: tricks on a one-wheel device, juggling ridiculous numbers of objects, a contortionist’s pan-bending stunts, and even a high-flying trapeze act.  
  
Karkat tugged on the hem of Gamzee’s shirt. “Can I try?” he asked, following a sword-dance act.  
  
“I’ll teach you whatever you want later. Now’s not a time for picking up a new art.”  
  
“You said I could join in!”  
  
“Patience, little bro. There’s time set aside for everyone to get their wicked worship on.”

A few more acts presented themselves, but Gamzee felt more attuned to the energy of the room than the performances. Everyone was getting impatient; they wanted the main event to begin. He kept catching the Priestly’s eyes, trying to decide together if it was time to stop the performances and initiate the night’s ritual. Each time, the tension built, but so long as there were believers willing to step forward they had to delay. It made Gamzee’s blood pusher thump harder every time someone delayed the main event. He might be nervous. He might be actually nervous about his performance! The realization put a smile on Gamzee’s face. How hilarious, to feel fear of his own in the middle of the Dark Carnival!  
  
In the pause between performance, someone shouted out, “Bring out the brothers!” a call that rippled through the entire congregation. Gamzee felt Karkat’s hand in his shirt tighten, but he ruffled Karkat’s hair and separated the little one’s fingers from his clothes. Then Gamzee and the Priestly stepped into the the ring, accompanied by the hoots and hollers of the other minstrelisters.  
  
They paced around each other for a few circles, eyes locked and testing the combination of their personalities. They had discussed who would be most likely to take the role of Jackyl the Sinister or Jakeyl the Just, but when it came down to it, their preferences didn’t matter one motherfucking bit. The spirits themselves would be the ones who determined which troll would represent which brother. Still, Gamzee thought a quick prayer for Karkat’s sake, asking that he embody the spirit of the Just.  
  
The longer Gamzee and the Priestly stared, the closer they drew to each other, unconsciously starting to mirror other movements in each other: the dip of their shoulders, the length of their stride, and the swing of their arms. With the distinction between them starting to blur, Gamzee could feel something begin to change: a twitch in his fingers, a tension in his shoulders… And he saw that the Priestly was experiencing different changes: he straightened his spine, opened his chest. The Just brother had chosen the Priestly, which meant Gamzee would be the Sinister brother. His regret evaporated under the weight of his role. He’d be the best motherfucking Jackyl the Big Top had ever seen.  
  
Older members of the congregation recognized that the roles had been settled, and started to shout: “Bring it on!  _Bring it on!_!” Others joined until a deafening roar filled the Big Top, a roar that Gamzee and the Priestly interrupted when they finally separated their attention from each other and focused it on the congregation.  
  
“Welcome everyone, to the big show!” the Priestly began. He kept circling around, this time addressing trolls in the crowd.  
  
“It’s Jakeyl and Jackyl of the Dark Carnival!” Gamzee added, following his brother.  
  
“Remove your hats or we’ll cut off your heads!” the other continued.  
  
“Show respect! You’s amongst the dead!” he shouted, miming decapitation on his own neck.  
  
“Forget the bigots and heretical fucks…”  
  
“Ain’t shit changed, bitch, check us!”  
  
“In the Big Top, the unworthy die…”  
  
“The greatest spectacle under the sky!”  
  
Gamzee caught sight of Karkat one last time—eyes trained on his guardian, some mixture of concern and curiosity on his face—but his expression couldn’t penetrate the fervor running high through his bloodstream. Gamzee had a role to play, a part to perform, and the way before him was prepared. He and the Priestly each took clubs, but looped them onto their belts. A few other minstrelisters brought out basins, each filled with small ceramic bubbles. Gamzee took two of the baubles and felt the blessed blood slosh inside them. His grin widened, and already he felt like his face could split in two.  
  
“ _Bring it! Bring it!_ ” the believers chanted, and Gamzee looked to his companion. The Priestly had selected two balls two, and with a silent count, the two lobbed a ball at each other, exchanging their selections. They traded the balls back and forth, setting up a gentle juggling pattern.  
  
Then the troll at Gamzee’s side tossed another sphere into their pattern. The number of balls in the air increased to five. Then the Priestly’s companion introduced a sixth ball. A seventh. An eighth. More and more and more balls joined the pattern until Gamzee and the Priestly’s hands were blurs, catching and releasing the balls in an ever-complicating pattern as they accommodated a dozen, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen balls.  
  
“Drop ‘em, Jackyl!” someone heckled. “C’mon, drop ‘em!”   
  
Though the task at hand consumed his full attention, thoughts at the back of his head twisted and curled. The Sinister was there, he knew that feeling, he’d performed dozens of rituals like this one and felt the touch of the Jokers. Jackyl knew these weren’t balls of blood, they were souls, souls of dead trolls who sinned and then died and now deserved to be  _destroyed_.  
  
The rage inside him continued to build as he and the Priestly flung the blood-filled balls back and forth at each other, until Gamzee finally let it all  _snap_. He reached for the clubs at his hips, and while a few balls flew past him and exploded against the floor, he swung his weapons and smashed the balls in mid-air too—olive, blue, brown, violet— bursting like fireworks against the stark white of his clubs. And as Gamzee swung, he advanced, drawing closer and closer to the Priestly, who valiantly kept juggling as Gamzee rampaged closer to him. He shattered each and every ball until he was inches away from the Priestly’s face.  
  
_Jackyl drops balls, Shangri-la dies._  
  
He dropped one club and snatched a fistful of the Priestly’s hair, flinging him onto the floor. The Priestly laughed the whole way down, staring up at Gamzee and waiting for him to continue. Gamzee raised his remaining club above his head and swung it down, a single inch to the right of the Priestly’s face. The impact on the floor left a blossom of violet and olive beside his head, growing as Gamzee continued to club that spot. Then he raised his arm, howled at the roof of the Big Top, and then spun his club in a wide arc, spraying flecks of blood onto the onlooker’s faces.  
  
With that last performance complete, the carnival truly began. Believers took more bubbles of blood, burst them open, and smeared it on the walls, on the floors, on each other. As the Sinister—the victorious brother—several people threw more balls toward him, but he refused to catch them, just hitting them out of the air with his clubs.  
  
_Jackyl drops balls, Shangri-la dies._  
  
He heard laughter. He saw color. He smelled sweat and sugar. He felt joy. He felt pain. He felt  _so much joy._  The entire world swirled and blurred until Gamzee could barely tell whether he was still alive, or if he had died and gone to the Dark Carnival after all.  
  
_Jackyl drops balls, Shangri-la dies._  
  
He felt pain. He felt joy. He felt pain. He felt…  _mirth._

* * *

  
“Mirthful?”  
  
“Mn…”  
  
“Is it over?”  
  
Gamzee blinked the blur from his eyes and looked around. The congregation had completely expended itself; all its energy and passion was now spread across the Big Top in smears of blessed blood. Every so often, giggles bubbled forth from some nearly-unconscious worshipper, or someone squeezed a stray honk horn, but the whole cathedraltop was still and mostly-quiet.  
  
“Yeah…” he answered. “It’s over.”  
  
He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Oh,  _this_  hit the spot. The part of his self he recognized as his soul felt purged, cleansed. The presence of the Sinister had departed, but left in its place a miraculous and empty serenity. He just kept breathing, enjoying the miracle of air in his breath sacks. How did the air even know how to feel like that? Motherfucking miracles.  
  
“Mirthful?”  
  
“Mm-hm?”  
  
“Is it time to leave now?”  
  
“…I guess that’s motherfucking right,” Gamzee said. When they felt ready to rouse themselves from this cathartic exhaustion, the minstrelisters would find their own way back to hives. Those who found themselves ready after sunrise were able to spend the day in a few recuperacoons set aside for that purpose, but only a few ever needed them. Let’s see, Gamzee would have to call the four-wheeled vehicle operator… and find Karkat… He looked around and didn’t see him so far.  
  
“Mirthful?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Can I wash this off?”  
  
Gamzee finally looked at the person addressing him. Karkat stood next to him, covered in splashes of color up and down the hemospectrum. His facepaint had stayed mostly intact, but that was hard to determine with the large blotches of other colors on his person, but Gamzee noticed three things. One, Karkat’s hands were not coated in blood the way Gamzee’s were, meaning he hadn’t tried to paint. Two, Karkat’s eyes looked  _old_. He had the stare of a thousand-sweep old troll as he looked to Gamzee.  
  
Third, he hadn’t called Gamzee ‘Murfle.’ For a sweep now, Karkat had been capable of properly enunciating the word ‘mirthful,’ but the slurred nickname persisted. Gamzee had taken for granted that he would always be Murfle…  
  
“Yeah, little bro,” Gamzee pinched between his eyes and stood. “Let’s find an ablution trap.”  
  
They left the Big Top, and Gamzee led Karkat through the halls to some facilities that could be used for cleaning. Karkat scrubbed his body raw while Gamzee ran his clothes through a garment launderer.  
  
“What did you think of it all?” Gamzee asked while Karkat scoured his face.  
  
“It’s weird,” Karkat said. “Really fucking weird. This is the weirdest method of worship I could have ever contemplated.”  
  
“I thought you might say that, little bro,” Gamzee smiled. He could stand to be a little cleaner too, but after a hundred sweeps of wearing makeup he knew precisely how to buff away the unwanted substances and apply it fresh. “Think you wanna come again?”  
  
“No. Never.”  
  
“Are you glad you came?”  
  
“…Sort of.”  
  
“Sort of?”  
  
“Yes. Sort of. I’m still thinking about it, so I’ll tell you later.”  
  
“You got it, motherfucker,” Gamzee had his face cleansed, and he started applying his usual tolerowdy paint. “How was that other motherfucker…”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“The wiggler you stuck with.”  
  
“Mileko?”  
  
“Yeah! What do you think of him?”  
  
“He’s got a pan full of sludge and he can barely string together a sentence longer than three words,” Karkat declared. “He gave me some contact information, but if I never see him again I won’t lose any sleep over it.”  
  
“Aw, well that’s alright. Not every motherfucker can get his jive on with every other motherfucker.”  
  
Their clothes finished washing, and in silence, Gamzee and Karkat left the cathedraltop and waited for the four-wheeled vehicle to arrive and take them back to the amphibortress.  
  
“I think I know what was so strange about it now,” Karkat spoke up.  
  
“Yeah? What is it?”  
  
“Trolls in your caste can live up to a thousand sweeps, don’t they?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s motherfucking true.”  
  
“And all of them believe in the Mirthful Messiahs?”  
  
“Most everybody, yeah.”  
  
Karkat paused. “Okay… then I have a question.”  
  
“Shoot, little bro.”  
  
“Why would anyone spend such a long life pretending to be dead?”  
  
Gamzee tried to think of an answer. He really did. He had a whole arsenal worth of answers, generations of minstrelisters who pondered and answered that question in essays and testimonials, but when he thought of presenting them to Karkat all the arguments  crumbled like ash.  
  
The vehicle arrived before Gamzee could come up with a response, and they rode back to the palace in silence.


	9. Age, Rage, and Pity

Gamzee and Karkat returned about an hour before sunrise, a little past Karkat’s coontime. The Compasse was waiting for them on arrival, discussing something with a dignitary, but she dismissed the courtier as soon as they arrived.  
  
“Welcome back, Karkat!” she gushed, kneeling down to hug him. “I missed you today!”  
  
Karkat hesitated, but accepted her embrace. “Yeah… you too.”  
  
“So how was it? Was it what you expected?”  
  
“No, it was really different and weird, but I’m glad I went,” he answered. “I made a friend there.”  
  
“You did?” the Compasse exclaimed, as surprised as Gamzee.  
  
“His name is Mileko. He’s a sweep older than me, but he’s really… really chill. So chill.”  
  
“I’m so happy! I’m glad there was someone your age there.”  
  
“Yeah, and he told me about TOL, on the internet. I want to keep talking to him.”  
  
 _Are you lying to the fishy sister?_  Gamzee wondered, staring at Karkat. Hours ago he had declared he wouldn’t mind cutting ties with Mileko completely.  
  
The Compasse spelled out the acronym. “Trolls On Line?”  
  
“Yeah! I want an account so I can be friends with Mileko and the Mirthful and you on the internet!”  
  
The Compasse blinked. “…You’ve never called him that.”  
  
“What, Mirthful?” Karkat rolled his eyes. “Look, everyone else respects the Mirthful’s title, so I should too.”  
  
Turning a suspicious glance to Gamzee, she asked, “Did someone tease Karkat for your nickname?”  
  
“No! No one teased me! Everyone was really nice to me, they didn’t care what I called him!” Karkat turned up his chin, folded his arms, and closed his eyes, creating the most self-righteous pose Gamzee had ever seen. “I drew this conclusion on my own, after seeing the Mirthful’s authority in the Church. If I want to be taken seriously, I have to stop speaking like an immature wiggler. Don’t you agree, Feferi?”  
  
The Compasse gasped, and Gamzee slapped his hands over his ears, but he couldn’t unhear the Empress’s hatch name.  _Feferi._  Shit, he was probably blushing a deep purple to match the fuchsia on the Compass’s cheeks.  
  
“I—I should probably up and leave,” Gamzee managed. “You got time to spend with the little bro?”  
  
“Yes, I think it’s time we had a small conversation…” the Empress agreed.  
  
To Karkat’s confusion, Gamzee rapidly absconded back to his respite block. Once the door shut, Gamzee breathed a giant sigh. How quickly he had adjusted to his palatial culler life, and how easily Karkat could uproot it all! He tugged lightly on a chunk of his hair and started to pace in circles. The cleansed feeling of the ritual was already gone, obliterated by Karkat’s question.  
  
Why spend a life pretending to be dead… Because it was the truth of the afterlife, for one. They had to be prepared for what was to come, and since life—even a long life—was finite and death was infinite, Gamzee should focus on joining the Carnival and the Messiahs… But he could hear Karkat beside him, scoffing at the idea that he needed to spend a thousand sweeps preparing to die. Just like Karkat had learned to read and calculate in a few short sweeps, surely it didn’t take long at all to learn how to be dead. He could spend his life doing anything he wanted,  _then_  learn to be dead, then die.  
  
Well, the practice of imitating death helped avoid sin, since he lived with the consequences ever-present in his mind. It made him immune to the illusions and temptations of the mortal plane. Well, Karkat knew a bit about sins, but not everything. Would he even agree with the Chruch’s definitions of sin? If it was a sin to kill another troll, then why did Gamzee simulate bashing the Priestly’s skull in to honor the Messiahs? Well, because that sort of thing occured in the Carnival… But then why was murder forbidden while alive, if violent deaths would be part of the afterlife?  
  
 _Just stop. Stop this now!_  Gamzee put his hands over his ears again, just as uselessly as before. He knew his truths and believed them. They were his identity, his destiny…  
  
But why did Karkat’s ignorant opinion matter so much to him?  
  
Gamzee retrieved his Testament and a few supplements, scanning the chapters for something affirming. He should find an answer, just to help Karkat understand that Gamzee had made his choices decades ago and he had no intention of changing now. He had a sentence or two rehearsed and ready when the grubmic picked up noise in Karkat’s block: a slamming door, and then an anguished howl.  
  
He threw down the books and ran to the adjacent block immediately, and found Karkat in the midst of one of his most furious tantrums yet.  
  
“Oh Karkat, you don’t have to worry about your fucking titling day!” he ranted. “It’s only the most important day of a troll’s life, when they take the name that they’ll use to leave their mark on history, because  _I’ve already picked your title!?_ ” Karkat kicked a chair over and screeched, both in rage and in pain. “ _Because Her Repulsive Condescension ALREADY KNOWS everything I’m ever going to become, so she went and DECIDED ON MY TITLE ALREADY!!!_ ”  
  
“Little bro, maybe get your motherfucking calm on…” Gamzee ventured, but Karkat picked up a fist-sized toy globe and hurled it at Gamzee.  
  
“The  _Endeared_?! That’s the kind of title you give to your dead pet barkbeast, not another troll! She just loves me so fucking much she’s going to suffocate me with it! And she  _never_  listens, she never listens to a single syllable I scream from my squawk blister because a redblood like me is never going to want anything myself!”  
  
“Best friend, you’re four. You don’t got to worry about your titling day for another six sweeps,” Gamzee suggested. “There’s time to make the Compasse change her mind.”  
  
“But she  _already made it up_! It didn’t even cross her think pan to maybe ask, ‘Hey Karkat! What are some of your dreams and interests? Oh and by the way, what do you want your title to be?!’ She has already decided I’m never going to be more than a thing she liked!”  
  
“You’re reading way to deep into that. She just means it like… you’re special. And the people around you love you.”  
  
“If  _this_  is love then I don’t want it! I am a living, thinking, feeling troll and I want my life to mean something! And  _her Wretchedness_  is determined to make me irrelevant!”  
  
“Don’t go calling the fishy sister wretched! She really cares about you.”  
  
“You’re taking her side?! I can’t believe this!”  
  
“I just think that there’s more to it than what you’re saying there is.”  
  
Karkat wailed again, running out of coherent words for his argument, so he looked around for something else to destroy. He settled on his pile of stuffed animals, untouched for the last perigee, and roughly grabbed a plush creature by the nearest limb. Then he ripped the limb off, fabric and stuffing spewing onto the floor.  
  
Gamzee sprung into action at that. Karkat amputated two more plushie limbs before Gamzee plucked the toy from his hand and threw it in the corner, out of reach. Karkat snarled and grabbed another, but Gamzee kept pitching them away. Before long, Karkat grew so frustrated he flung his fists at his guardian instead, but Gamzee easily caught his wrists in his hands.  
  
A wave of nostalgia and pain washed through Gamzee. He remembered holding Karkat like this the day they met. That little wiggler was so full of life, laughing while Gamzee held him, but now… Now, Karkat frowned. He had tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, and distress, not joy, shook his body as he fought against Gamzee, howling for him to let go.  
  
His heart clenched again in a long-ignored sensation. He knew what he wanted to do: he wanted to reach out and cradle the side of Karkat’s face, whisper soothing shooshes in his ear, and cradle him in the nearest and most inviting pile, specifically those plushies right behind him. Karkat was angry and hurt and Gamzee wanted to make that all disappear. He thought he had this lusus-culler relationship settled and those pedophilic leanings eliminated, but apparently not. That pale light was still there, just buried.  
  
But Karkat was  _four_. Four was no better than three. He was a child. Gamzee couldn’t touch him.  
  
So he bit his tongue and pulled Karkat off-balance, releasing the boy’s arms and letting him land on the floor. He cried out at the impact, but quickly pulled himself to a sitting position, preparing to launch at Gamzee again, either verbally or physically. But Gamzee didn’t give him the chance.  
  
“I’ve held my tongue on a lot of shit from you, but I think someone needs to tell it to you at least once,” Gazmee told Karkat, stern and serious. “You are a rotten motherfucking spoiled brat!”  
  
“What?! I’m not spoiled, Feferi just won’t—”  
  
“Stop getting your blame on the Compasse for everything! She wants to give you a kind and gentle life full of trolls that love you and you attack her with all your wicked hate over it! Why can’t you let her do what she wants?”  
  
Karkat stared at Gamzee for a second, his red tears finally beginning to fall.  
  
“…Get out,” he rasped, his throat sore from shouting.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Get out of my block! This is already the worst day of my life and I want to stop seeing your stupid shitty face!” Karkat flung his arm and pointed to the door. “I don’t give a fuck if you never come back, either!”  
  
He folded his arms. “I told you, I’m here forever.”  
  
“You think I give a shit?! If you like acting like you’re dead so much, I’ll join in! You’re  _dead!_  You’re DEAD, Mirthful! You’re dead and I don’t care if I never see you again!”  
  
Gamzee’s righteous strictness cracked. “You don’t mean that, do you?”  
  
“I MEAN IT! I’M NEVER TALKING TO YOU AGAIN! GET  _OUT!_ ” Karkat pointed again to the door, his hand shaking and his torso heaving with sobs. He could do nothing to remove Gamzee from his block.  
  
But Gamzee left anyway.  
  
He couldn’t go back to his respite block. The grubmic would broadcast Karkat’s continued rage right into Gamzee’s space, and he couldn’t bear to listen to what he had just done, so he just wandered the halls. In an effort to discourage himself from pale advances, he hurt Karkat’s feelings worse. He barely meant what he said back there. Sure, it was frustrating when Karkat got in his ‘only-I-am-right’ attitudes, but those weren’t so bad. He usually  _was_  right, he was just insufferable about it. And the things Karkat demanded from Fefe—the Compasse weren’t really all that unreasonable. He wanted books, he wanted to name himself, he wanted access to the world.  
  
 _I don’t care if I never see you again. I’m never talking to you again. Get out._  
  
The halls were mostly empty. Once in a while, someone crossed Gamzee’s path, but no one questioned his solitary walk, knowing that the Empress’ treasure—her Endeared one—was already in his recuperacoon. No one looked closely enough at Gamzee’s face to realize he wasn’t smiling either.  
  
He hurt Karkat. He didn’t want to hurt Karkat. He  _had_  to hurt Karkat. Because if he didn’t hurt Karkat now, he’d end up hurting Karkat far worse. The compassion and comfort of a moirail could be compared to a lusus, sure, but moirails know the entirety of each others’s hearts. It takes emotional maturity to manage a moiraillegiance, and Karkat had a ways to go on that front… and if he was being honest, Gamzee probably did, too. An adult treating in moiraillegaince with a wiggler could do terrible things with that amount of trust. Especially starting in the pale quadrant, an older and malevolent moirail had the potential to completely shut down a wiggler’s other quadrants. What if Karkat met another troll who got a pale crush on him? If Gamzee was his pedophilic moirail, he’d have so much power to make Karkat drive that troll away with lies and jealous. Even if those feelings were flushed or black, the confidence of a moirail could shake the whole system.  
  
This was for the best. Karkat needed to separate from Gamzee, the sooner the better.  
  
 _I don’t give a fuck if you never come back._  
  
But surely… wanting to matter to Karkat wasn’t pedophilic, was it? Gamzee just wanted to stay in his life as long as that life lasted. The Compasse’s assessment a sweep ago had been thoroughly busted. Gamzee  _did_  feel pale for Karkat. But what mattered was what Karkat felt for Gamzee. If Karkat never saw him as more than a lusus, surely… he would be okay with that, right? And if Karkat only saw him as a lusus then there was no foundation of trust to abuse…  
  
Gamzee returned to his block late in the day, and took much longer before he decided to finally sleep. The silence of the grubmic was a small comfort. He’d have to report to the Compasse tomorrow: Karkat had ‘disowned’ Gamzee, and Gamzee’s feelings were far less custodial than previously expected.  
  
Yes. He’d tell her tomorrow. He’d tell her…  
  


* * *

  
“Wake the fuck up, you whimsical piece of shit!”  
  
Gamzee stirred and lifted his chin out of his sopor. He couldn’t have slipped in more than two hours ago. Who was yelling at him already?  
  
“There’s a lot I need to say to you, and I need you conscious! Get your hulking torso out of that slime!”  
  
“…Karkat?” Gamzee focused his eyes on the troll in front of him, clad in yesterday’s outfit with bags under his eyes. Did he even sleep?  
  
“You said a lot of shit yesterday and I’m going to forgive you for it. I’m  _also_  going to take your advice and try my hardest to stop fighting with the Compasse, for your sake. Are you with me so far?”  
  
Gamzee pulled more of his body out of the slime and wiped a few globs away. “…Mostly?” he answered. Didn’t Karkat say he was never going to talk to Gamzee again? Why had he decided to forgive Gamzee so easily?  
  
“Good. I’ll explain more later. But for now, you need to understand that I have three very simple goals, and you’re going to help me complete them. Do you need to take notes? I can create a slideshow, just let me get my construction paper and crayons.”  
  
“No, no, I don’t need a motherfucking slideshow…” Gamzee finally shook the sleep from his pan. “You said… you’ve got goals?”  
  
Karkat held out three fingers to Gamzee. “Yes. These three goals that should see me through the next six sweeps until my titling day. Which, that leads me to goal one: find a better title. I will  _not_  be the Endeared. I’m going to find something way cooler and more badass, and I’m going to carve it in the history books if I have to.”  
  
“Alright, I’m with you so far…”  
  
“Goal two: secure access to my own computer. I’m going to create my TOL account on your husktop, but if I can play the story right the Compasse will give me my own eventually. I need to meet people outside the palace.”  
  
“That should be pretty easy. What’s goal three?”  
  
Karkat’s brows knit together with even more grim determination. “Goal three is you’re going to teach me how to use all those different weapons I saw in the Big Top. Swords, ropes, clubs, everything.”  
  
“What the motherfuck do you want to learn all that for? I thought you didn’t ever want to go back to the Church.”  
  
“I know, but all those performances are fighting arts. It’s how to make sure nothing messes with you. Trolls with your color know everything about how to be even bigger and scarier than your own day terrors. I need to learn how to do that too. I need everyone to know they can’t mess with me. I’m going to train, and I’m going to become strong enough that I won’t need anyone to protect me.”  
  
Gamzee looked down. “…So you do still want to get rid of me, huh?”  
  
“No, fucknuts. You can stay. But you’re not going to protect me, got it?”  
  
If Gamzee wasn’t pale for Karkat before, he was now. Staring at that angry little face, full of determination and hope and rage, Gamzee had a startling certainty that he’d follow Karkat to the depths of hell if that’s where he wanted to go.  
  
“…Yeah. I motherfucking got it.”  
  
“Then my first lesson starts now. Get out of that recuperacoon and start teaching me how to hit things.”  
  
“You got it, little bro.”


	10. Slowly and Steadily

Once again, Gamzee neglected to share the full scope of his feelings with the Compasse. The morning slipped away as Karkat began the old exercise regimen Gamzee had learned when he was Karkat’s age. The routine emphasized stretching and range of motion before even touching an instrument. After spending an hour on stretches—Karkat was hilariously inflexible, and he complained loudly, but shut up and tripled his efforts whenever Gamzee reminded him this is how to become strong and terrifying—it was time for breakfast, and then tutoring, and it wouldn’t be until late in the night that they’d see the Compasse again. When they did, Karkat had a lot of things to say and Gamzee didn’t want to edge in on Karkat’s very important apology. Best let the motherfucker keep the spotlight.  
  
“I was thinking about why you chose Endeared, and… I get it,” Karkat admitted. “That’s the way you feel about me, but I don’t feel that way about myself.”  
  
“Do you not love yourself?” the Compasse asked, frowning a little.  
  
“No, it’s not that. I think I’m great. But that’s not what I want to define my life. I want my title to be something I  _do_ , or a trait I  _have_ , not something that other people say I am. Like… the Well-Read, or the Critical.”  
  
“Your titling day is still a long way off. Your interests could change.”  
  
“Those are just  _examples,_  okay!?” Karkat snapped, but he swallowed back the anger. “Like, even the Seafarer has a title that describes an action. He sails boats. I want a title like that.”  
  
The Compasse smiled a little. “When we asked you, you didn’t want to go anywhere near a boat.”  
  
Gamzee bit his tongue.  _We asked when he was two. He’s four. He’s so much bigger and braver now._  
  
“I’m not saying I want to be a sailor! I’m saying I want a title that reflects an action!”  
  
“Alright, I understand that. But really, your only hobbies right now are books, movies, and toys.”  
  
“I know. That’s why I want to keep talking to Mileko. He’s into a lot of different stuff than me. Like, he said he was learning how to juggle.”  
  
“You want to learn to juggle?”  
  
Karkat scrunched up his mouth. “No… but when I saw the jugglers at the Big Top, the way they moved looked cool.”  
  
“Maybe you’d like to learn to dance!” the Compasse suggested. “That’s an extremely beautiful, graceful art!”  
  
Karkat shot a glance at Gamzee, checking for his opinion. The little wiggler didn’t seem convinced, but Gamzee raised his eyebrows and nodded. Dance would help Karkat build flexibility and muscle under the Compasse’s nose. He couldn’t actually ask for weapons training without raising some warning flags. Plus, the Compasse was offering to let Karkat expand his horizons. He needed to take every opportunity he got.  
  
“…Sure, why not,” Karkat answered. “What the hell, right?”  
  
The Compasse beamed, happy that she and Karkat had finally engaged in a civil conversation—and likely oblivious to Karkat’s motivation for returning to her good graces—and promised she would find a dance tutor to add into Karkat’s schedule.  
  
Following dinner, Gamzee forked over his husktop for Karkat to create his first chat account. Gamzee’s TOL account was already a few decades old, and he had forgotten that technically only trolls six and up were supposed to use it, but Karkat just scowled and lied himself two sweeps older. Then he entered a few more details, but stopped at another obstacle.  
  
“What should I pick for my username?” he said. “It needs to be two words, and it’s going to show up as initials…”  
  
“You can just pick whatever motherfucking words you like, right?”  
  
“Maybe. But it has to be  _cool._ ” Karkat grabbed a very big dictionary that he had most certainly pilfered from the library and flipped it open to look for interesting words. At a loss for what to do, Gamzee just stared at Karkat for a minute, thinking about how much he wanted to wrap the young troll in his arms, listen to his breath, nuzzle his hair— _stop that fucking noise right now!_  
  
He looked away from Karkat and tugged is hair. Motherfuck, how was he going to put up with six more sweeps of this shit? More than six sweeps, really, since the titling day wasn’t a magical event that suddenly legitimized every crush an adult motherfucker had on an underage motherfucker. Gamzee refused to be a cocoon-stalker. Even after he grew up, being pale with him would still be all kinds of disturbing. Maybe Gamzee could look into emotional management? Or he could pray harder? Or consult a mediculler? No, he didn’t want to talk to anyone about this. Even with that pale fire at the front of his mind rather than the back, Gamzee just couldn’t voice his feelings. Like someone had sewn up his mouth, the words stayed stuck inside him. He wondered if he’d go to his grave with this secret inside of him. Maybe the first to hear it will be the Mirthful Messiahs themselves.  
  
Gamzee eventually found a random book to distract himself with while Karkat puzzled over his username. The young troll interrupted his fake reading every so often to voice a screen name aloud. He liked big words, and didn’t quite use all of them right, but none of his prototypes quite fit. By the end of the evening, he had settled into the initials ‘CG,’ because he liked the way their shapes fit together. Well, Gamzee had heard of worse reasons to like a pair of letters. He wondered what words Karkat would put with it.  
  


* * *

  
By next week, Karkat’s dance lessons began. The instructor the Compasse found was a short, slender woman with tightly curled horns like two small loops above her head. She wore form-fitting clothing with some light, airy material as a skirt over it, and her smile glowed when she laid eyes on Karkat for the first time.  
  
“It’s so nice to meet you,” she bent slightly to hold both of Karkat’s hands in hers in a double-handshake. “I am Mistress Sundance, and I’ll be your teacher!”  
  
_Mistress._  So this troll jade-blooded. All jades gained the title Mistress at adulthood, and then added a title of their choosing after. Gamzee knew the jadebloods had their own arrangement with the Compasse, much like the purplebloods, but since that wasn’t his war he didn’t know the details.  
  
“Should I call you Mistress, or Sundance?” Karkat asked.  
  
“Oh, Sundance, please. Her Radiance said your name is Karkat, correct?” He nodded. “Perfect. Are you ready to start? Let’s begin with some stretches!”  
  
Gamzee sat to the side of the room while the lesson began. A lot of Sundance’s stretches were similar to Gamzee’s, but her tutelage emphasized isolations, the ability to move a single muscle at a time. Move his ribs without moving his hips, move his ankle without moving his leg, move his head in very precise directions without leaning… Karkat muttered curses when he couldn’t do the stretches right, and had to reassure his startled teacher that he’s not swearing at  _her_ , just at these rotten shitsniffing stretches. Sundance looked to Gamzee, puzzled and nervous, and he gave her a thumbs-up. She was doing fine.  
  
When stretches finished, Sundance demonstrated a few step patterns for Karkat to imitate. Watching him move next to Sundance was like watching a stiff hunk of wood try and imitate a feather in the breeze, but he eventually got the pattern right.  
  
“Good! Now, we’ll do it together,” Sundance stepped a little closer. “First, place your right hand on my back, and hold your left out.”  
  
“W—What?!” Karkat exclaimed. “I have to touch you?”  
  
Sundance frowned a little bit. “Well, yes. That’s how you dance with someone. Now, don’t be shy. I won’t bite.”  
  
Karkat froze and spluttered a little, a small crimson blush appearing on his cheeks. He reached out and placed his hand on Sundance’s back as directed. His face stared directly at his teacher’s rumble spheres, and the flush on his face deepened. Gamzee stifled giggles.  
  
By the end of the lesson, Karkat had a basic grasp of a few elementary steps, from both the lead partner and the follow partner. He and Sundance bade farewell to each other, and the instant the door shut behind them, Karkat turned to Gamzee, despair in his face.  
  
“I can’t do it. I have to quit. I’m not going to learn to dance. It’s not going to teach me anything.”  
  
“But little bro, dance is a motherfucking miracle.”  
  
“No! I thought I’d just be learning how to jump and spin with rhythm! No one told me it was so… touchy! This isn’t relevant to my third goal at all!”  
  
“Don’t be so sure about that.”  
  
Karkat fixed Gamzee with a skeptical scowl. “What makes you think this will be useful?”  
  
“Messiahs forbid you ever end up in a motherfucking brawl with another motherfucker, but partner dancing helps you get your read on to what the other motherfucker wants to do next. You learn how to have two wicked bros move as one using the littlest of signals. If you’re a good dancer, you’re gonna be harder to trick. Feints are gonna be a snap to catch because you’ll know what real steps versus fake steps feel like.”  
  
Karkat scrunched his mouth, thinking it over.  
  
“And it doesn’t hurt that the sunny sister is a fine-ass ninjalicious titty-bitch…”  
  
“Oh my god,  _shut your fucking mouth!_ ” Karkat squeaked, flushing crimson again. He shoved Gamzee’s side with all of his strength and budged the purpleblood an inch, but Gamzee just laughed.  
  
Before coontime, Karkat continued to work on his potential screen name, which thankfully didn’t need Gamzee’s actual husktop. He had a few messages from the Priestly waiting for him.  
  
jovialDevotion is now contacting theisticConviviality  
  
JD: I know THE fish QUEEN has YOU playing GRUBSITTER dusk TO dawn BUT you BROUGHT the RIGHTEOUS glories TO my BIG top  
JD: AND i WOULDN’T mind STEPPING back AND letting YOU work YOUR wicked MIRACLES  
JD: YOU’RE free NEXT perigee FOR the DEATH pop RIGHT? what IF you LED the RITUAL?  
TC: YoU KnOw iT BrOtHeR.  
TC: BuT I’M NoT AbOuT To gEt mY StEp oN To yOuR GoOd wOrK.  
JD: YOU got IT all BACKWARDS  
JD: YOU’RE the HIGHBLOOD’S heir FOR a REASON  
TC: LoOk oUr gHb iS GoNnA StAy aLl gRaNd aNd hIgH FoR A FeW DeCaDeS At lEaSt.  
JD: DECADES run FAST my BROTHER  
JD: BEFORE you KNOW it YOU’RE gonna BE the HEAD kicker OF wicked ELIXIR  
JD: DEMONSTRATING the PROPER devotions AND preparing THE path TO the DARK carnival FOR all OF us  
TC: PrOpEr dEvOtIoNs aIn’t aLl tHaT HaRd.  
TC: YoU MoThErFuCkErS ArE ThE ReAsOn i gOt tHe rIgHtEoUs gLoRiEs.  
JD: THROW this HUMBLE noise OUT the MOTHERFUCKING window  
JD: IF you’re FEELING all APPREHENSIVE i’ll LEAD the DEATH pop BUT keep IT in MIND that I’M down TO follow YOU whenever  
JD: I don’t WANT another THREE sweeps TO pass BEFORE i FOLLOW you AGAIN ya FEEL?  
TC: I GeT It bRoThEr.  
TC: DoN’T WoRrY, wE’Ll fInD ThE RiGhT TiMe fOr mE To gEt mY LeAd pReAcH On aGaIn.  
  
Gamzee glanced over at Karkat, hard at work scribbling down interesting-sounding words and combining them into potential names. It was getting early, but Karkat showed no sign of slowing down.  
  
“Hey, bro, it’s time to read and hit the slime,” he reminded Karkat.  
  
“I don’t wanna,” Karkat said. “Just let me keep working.”  
  
“Why don’t we read a coontime story?”  
  
“Those are for wigglers.”  
  
“C’mon, tell me a coontime story.”  
  
Karkat slammed his pencil down. “You’re a grown-ass troll, Mirthful! What the hell are you doing begging for a coontime story?!”  
  
Gamzee rubbed at the back of his neck. “I just like hearing you read is all…”  
  
“ _Fine,_  you clingy anus crust. I’ll read to you, then you go to sleep, and I’ll sleep when I’m ready. Okay?!”  
  
Though he only asked for the story in the hope it would settle Karkat’s mind and make him tired, Gamzee hadn’t lied when he said he liked listening to Karkat read. He narrated every story scornfully, like he had nothing but contempt for the plot and its author, but that harshwhimsy just put a smile on Gamzee’s face.  
  
When the chapter ended, Karkat dug a set of claws into Gamzee’s leg. “Now  _leave,_  dammit.”  
  
“You’re going to sleep soon, right?”  
  
“Yes, I promise! Go away!”  
  
“Sleep well, motherfucker.”  
  
The next evening, Gamzee could instantly see that if Karkat hadn’t slept much, if at all. He brought the same ornery outlook to his life, but the shadows under his eyes gave his deprivation away. And it wasn’t just one day: they stretched on into a week, and Karkat was still not sleeping.  
  
“I think I finally settled on my screen name,” Karkat said. Gamzee noticed a stifled yawn that he pretended wasn’t there.  
  
“About motherfucking time. What have you got, little bro?”  
  
“I’m going to be cardinalGladiator.”  
  
“Heeeey, that’s a good one!” Gamzee grinned wide. Gladiators were ancient warriors for the Church who stood sentinel during rituals back when most devotions took place in actual tents. The order died out when the spread of fortress-strong cathedrals made worship safer, but the gladiators who sacrificed their salvation to defend their brothers were revered in the Church’s history. The pale fire danced happily to know Karkat’s username contained a reference to minstrelister culture—not the most faithful of believers, but the most loyal of knights.  
  
“I just want people to know they can’t mess with me, so I wanted one part to be a fighter. Then ‘cardinal’ is a shade of red that’s kind of like my blood.”  
  
“Sounds like a perfect motherfucking name for you,” Gamzee said. “Hey, do you think you’d want your title to be the Cardinal? It fits in the motherfucking traditional pattern.”  
  
Karkat shook his head. “No. I don’t just want to be ‘the Red.’ I’m going to keep looking for a title, but I can finally set up my TOL account.”  
  
Gamzee dutifully provided his husktop and let Karkat finally enter his name, then send his first message to Mileko, or ‘clownDude.’ Gamzee had nothing really to do while he listened to Karkat beginning his first online conversation, but the rhythm of his keystrokes was really soothing. He seemed to be dominating the conversation.  _Little bro has a lot to say…_  
  
And  _then_  Gamzee zoned out for a little, but he snapped back into it when he noticed the room starting to get inordinately bright. He roused himself and drew the curtains, but noticed Karkat still going strong. He looked over the wiggler’s shoulder, and saw a multitude of chat windows, not just with Mileko. _He’s making friends quick._  
  
“What time is it?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Huh? Oh. Um, eleven?”  
  
“Shit, bro, you need to sleep!”  
  
“I’ll go soon.”  
  
“I need my motherfucking husktop back.”  
  
“In a minute.”  
  
Gamzee grabbed a fistful of Karkat’s sweater and lifted him up and away from the computer. Karkat yelped and started to kick uselessly in mid-air. “Mirthful, put me down!”  
  
“Bro, I don’t give a shit if you stay up, but when I see you starting to shred your motherfucking think pan with wicked insomnias then I’m gonna throw your bitch-ass in a recuperacoon. Got it?”  
  
“Go shove a one-wheel device up your waste chute! You’re not my lusus!” Karkat shrieked.  
  
“I’m the closest thing you got to a lusus. Now are you getting in the slime on your own or do I gotta put you in it?”  
  
“You calcified hunk of vomit,  _fine_! Just let me log out!”  
  
Gamzee set Karkat down and let him say farewells and sign off, then took the husktop back while Karkat climbed into his recuperacoon.  
  
“Sleep well, bro.”  
  
“Fuck you, you stupid clown.”  
  
He smiled and left. Karkat would probably still be in a bad mood tomorrow, but he would at least have the energy to give that foul disposition everything he had.


	11. Act Your Age

“Oh my fucking god, how ignorant can you get?!”  
  
Karkat had been flying into these rage fits for perigees now. With the name cardinalGladiator at his disposal, Karkat set about growing his online contact network, initiating conversations with literally everyone willing to give him the time of night. He talked to trolls not just on TOL, but on various other message boards, some more related to his interests than others.  
  
But every time, he would find someone who said something derogatory. Something offensive. Something hemoist. And every time, Karkat flipped his fucking shit.  
  
When Karkat communicated online, it was so rare to see him in any mood  _other_  than ‘shit-flipping in progress.’ If he had any calm interactions with the online world, Gamzee had yet to see them. But he frequently saw Karkat pounding away at the keys of Gamzee’s husktop—the Compasse still hadn’t provided a new one, but there was a bit of hullabaloo at court that forced her to cancel a few play-dates—surrounded by books lying open and page after page of notes as he cited his furious rants.  
  
“This is exactly what Educator Greenbow was talking about when he talked about hemoistic dialects!” Karkat ranted to Gamzee as he fingers transcribed most of the lecture. “Whole regions of Beforus have been shaped by enormous class separations, which means everyone  _literally_  talks like fucking coolblood supremacists! Even the warmbloods! All this internalized hemoism is sickening!”  
  
“Little bro, it’s not your job to correct them…” Gamzee ventured.  
  
“Of course it’s my job to correct them! Who else will!?” He finished typing out a comment, hit ’submit,’ and then screamed, “FUCK! I’m banned  _again_!?”  
  
“What did you expect? When a motherfucker comes out of nowhere spewing swears and wicked vocabularies, other motherfuckers are gonna want to make him shut up.”  
  
“That’s just what the Logician said!  _Third Treatise on Imperial Discourse_ , look it up! The more correct an idea is, the more resistant those around it are to accepting it!”  
  
“Maybe if you didn’t call people imbecilic heaps of dung…”  
  
“That’s what they  _ARE_!” Karkat slammed his fists down on Gamzee’s keyboard, and the older troll winced. “Every person on the internet should be required to pass a basic intelligence test before they talk to anyone else!”  
  
“That’s why you’re supposed to be six and up before you sign up.”  
  
“Then they’re all lying about their age! I refuse to believe trolls older than six are this stupid!”  
  
“You lied, too.”  
  
“But I’m smarter than six-sweepers! They’re not!”  
  
Gamzee rolled his eyes. Karkat was so adorable when he got like this, so blissfully ignorant and hypocritical. By now, Gamzee had mostly on accident developed a nervous habit of slapping an improvised rhythm on his leg or arm whenever that pale attraction flared up again, just to keep himself busy.  
  
He successfully suppressed the rush of affection until Karkat spoke up in a significantly quieter voice: “Mirthful? I… I broke something.”  
  
Gamzee looked up to see Karkat holding out two halves of Gamzee’s spacebar key.  
  
“Can you fix it?” he asked, his eyes big and wide like a baby meowbeast, as if thirty seconds earlier he had not been spitting obscenities and social justice at strangers on the internet.  
  
“No, I don’t got the powers to put that key back on the husktop. We’ll go about getting you your own, alright?”  
  
“You’re not mad?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
Karkat sniffed. “I’m still sorry…”  
  
“Maybe take a break from the internet and get your zone on for a little while?”  
  
The little troll stepped away from the husktop and decided to start stretching again, in preparation for stepping through some of the basic pose routines Gamzee had shown him. He looked like kind of a doofus, in the cutest way possible.  
  
Still, he had to address the situation somehow. Gamzee fired up his palmhusk and shot a message to someone who would probably help, but be a little bitch about it.  
  
theisitcConvivality is now contacting courtlyAdventurer  
  
TC: So i uNdErStAnD ThAt yOu aNd tHe fIsHy sIsTeR HaVe gOt sOmE WiCkEd mOtHeRfUcKiNg pOlItIcS To dEaL WiTh…  
TC: BuT I ThOuGhT I WoUlD JuSt lEt yOu kNoW Of a sItUaTiOn gOiNg oN In mY NeCk oF ThE WoOdS  
CA: if you understand howw busy i am wwhy the hell are you contactin me  
TC: ThE LiTtLe bRo’s bEeN UsInG My hUsKtOp tO TaLk tO HiS BuDdIeS BuT He bRoKe oNe oF ThE MoThErFuCkInG KeYs :o(  
TC: I AsKeD ThE CoMpAsSe fOr a tOp aLl hIs oWn bUt sHe’s nOt bEiNg vErY MoThErFuCkInG FoRtHcOmInG On tHaT  
CA: youll just havve to wwait your turn  
CA: this empire doesn’t run itself and youre wwastin my precious time  
TC: SeE, tHe tHiNg i wAs aLl uP AnD ThInKiNg aBoUt iS WhAt sHe’d sAy tO YoU OnCe tHe mOtHeRfUcKiNg cRiSiS Is oVeR AnD ShE FiNdS OuT YoU ToOk tImE To tAkE CaRe oF KaRkAt oN HeR BeHaLf  
TC: SeEmS LiKe tHe kInD Of gEsTuRe tHaT WoUlD MaKe tHe cOmPaSsE AlL KiNdS Of hApPy  
TC: ThErE I SaId mY pIeCe  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
CA: i make no promises  
CA: and dont make askin me for things into any sort a habit  
CA: got it  
TC: ClEaR As a cRyStAl fAyGo mY FiShY BrOtHeR  
  
Gamzee smiled as the Seafarer ended the conversation. He knew that he’d find what the Seafarer feared, even without the use of psychic powers. That motherfucker would clip his fins and sand down his horns if he thought it would make the Empress happy. Their rumored moiraillegiance was no longer a matter of gossip, but of fact. Still, in Gamzee’s opinion, the Seafarer was still frightfully insecure about his relationship with the Empress, like he feared it could all come crashing down around him if he messed up.  
  
And if there was one thing Gamzee knew inside and out, it was fear.  
  
“Alright, bro,” Gamzee reported. “The Seafarer knows you need your own husktop, since the Compasse is all busy and shit.”  
  
Karkat stopped his exercise and turned up his nose. “Ugh, he’s probably going to get me some outdated piece of shit.”  
  
“Maybe, but if I’m betting right it’ll be good enough to make the Compasse praise him. So there’s that.”  
  
He shook his head slightly. “Well, yeah… He’ll get his praise, but he’s not going to like it.”  
  
Gamzee wrinkled his eyebrows. “But the motherfucker loves getting praised. It’s why he tells all his adventure stories.”  
  
“No, I  _know_ , but he hates the way the Compasse praises him.”  
  
“All pale-like?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Motherfucker, how do you know that?”  
  
“I can just see it! Stop being a douchebag about it!”  
  
Huh. Well, Gamzee didn’t quite know what to motherfucking make of that. But he trusted Karkat’s perspective enough to question whether he’d actually get a husktop out of pestering the Seafarer.  
  
He also needed to figure out where to get his own husktop repaired.

* * *

  
The new husktop arrived the next night: a standard-issue bureaucrat traveltop with office programs, a basic internet browser, and nothing else. The closest thing it had to a game was the ability to change the wallpaper between four inoffensively picturesque landscapes. But, it was sturdy, reliable, and not an outdated piece of shit.  
  
“You should write a thank-you note to the motherfucker,” Gamzee said as Karkat started downloading TOL and a better browser.  
  
“Why? He’s an insufferable asshole. He only did this because he likes the Compasse.”  
  
“Yeah, but don’t you think it would piss him the fuck off?”  
  
Karkat looked up from the computer and grinned. “Oh, now you’re talking!”  
  
Karkat dug into one of the bins near his desk and found a large swatch of construction paper and a box of crayons. Then he grasped a crayon with his whole fist and dragged it across the paper, writing in all-caps like a two-sweeper, except when he ran out of space at the edge:  
  
_DEAR SEAFAREr_  
THANK YOU FOR THE HUS^kTOP.   
IT IS A GOOD PRESENt.  
I LIKE IT MORE THAN YOUr   
FACE. FROM KARKAT.  
  
A few days after sending that heartfelt note, Karkat and Gamzee crossed paths with the Compasse’s right-hand troll in a hallway. Gamzee greeted him same as ever, but the Seafarer stopped and for the first time addressed Karkat directly.  
  
“I appreciate that you have enough basic intellect to feel grateful when trolls go out a their way to do somethin’ nice for you,” he said. “But next time… _keep it to yourself._ ”  
  
Karkat blinked with his most grublike eyes. “There’s going to be a next time?”  
  
“No! There won’t! Now shut up, I’ve got an empire to manage.” The Seafarer swept his cape behind him and stalked off down the hall while Karkat made a rude hand gesture at the back of his head. Gamzee giggled, and the Seafarer whipped around to see what was so funny, but Karkat had his hands stowed behind his back. This happened three more times before the Seafarer finally departed.  
  


* * *

  
“Now, when you take steps, the smoothest motion is to step from heel to toe, rolling through your foot…” Sundance instructed, demonstrating for Karkat to follow. He tried a few times, then abruptly decided to change the subject.  
  
“Sundance, what do you do when you’re not teaching me?”  
  
His teacher blinked at him. “Oh… I tutor other residents of the palace. There are respected dignitaries passing through all night and some of them have spare time to dance with me.”  
  
“So you live here too?”  
  
“Yes, I do now.”  
  
“Where did you live before?”  
  
Sundance ran a hand through her hair. “Karkat, you’re distracting yourself from the lesson.”  
  
“I’m bored! Can we do this tomorrow?” Cheeks lightly flushed, Karkat kicked a foot a little. “I wanna talk to you… and maybe be friends or something…”  
  
Sundance smiled. “Well, I don’t have anywhere to go once my lesson with you finishes. We can talk after.”  
  
Karkat nodded, and with his usual grim determination, powered through the rest of his dance lesson with the promise of conversation on the other side. Gamzee tried not to stare too hard at either Karkat or his teacher, but he was curious, too. He wondered what he might learn, about both the mutant and the dancer.  
  
When the lesson ended, Karkat turned on all of his charm and asked the Mistress, “So, do you wanna get some Grub-C and then talk about stuff?”  
  
She laughed. “That sounds wonderful.”  
  
They set up in a lounge, with glasses of Grub-C for everyone and a heaping plate of cookies in the center. Gamzee chose a seat most periphery to the two of them; if he needed to jump in, he would, but he’d prefer if both Karkat and Sundance forgot he was there.  
  
“You didn’t always live in the palace, did you?” Karkat said.  
  
“No. The Compasse contacted me to serve as a tutor. I thought you were going to be my only student, but I had enough free time and enough other willing students that I think I’ve made a good life here.”  
  
“What were you doing before?”  
  
“Basically the same thing, just for less noble-blooded trolls.”  
  
“I’m not noble. The Compasse told you I’m a mutant, right? Red-blooded.”  
  
“She mentioned that, yes.”  
  
“Good. Just… thought you should know,” Karkat shoved half a cookie in his mouth, maybe to make himself shut up.  
  
“Why did you want to learn to dance?” Sundance asked while Karkat was chewing.  
  
“Commaahah…” Karkat swallowed, then tried again. “The Compasse said I should. I want to do more stuff so I can pick a title when I get older.”  
  
“Wonderful! I know several trolls who chose their titles from dance.”  
  
“How did you know you wanted to be called Sundance? The sun kills people.”  
  
“It doesn’t kill me. I think the sun is really beautiful.”  
  
“Bullshit. It’s a blazing ball of angry fire and cooks trolls from the inside-out.”  
  
“My blood is jade, so I can withstand the sun. One of my favorite things to do when I was a wiggler was dance in the sunlight, twirling and spinning…” A nostalgic smile broke out on Sundance’s face.  
  
“Rainbow drinkers live in the sun, right?” Karkat said. “Are you a rainbow drinker?”  
  
“That’s a mother grub tale. I’ve lived most of my life among jadebloods and never met a single rainbow drinker.”  
  
“Maybe because they’re hiding…” Karkat mumbled into the half a cookie still in his hand. “But wait, if jadebloods can stay in the sun, why do they live in caves?”  
  
The edges of her smile quivered. “Because we take care of the Mother Grub. For her protection, she lives in the brooding caverns.”  
  
“Then why aren’t you doing that?”  
  
“For every hundred sweeps in the brooding caverns, jadebloods can spend ten sweeps on the surface.”  
  
Ohhh, that was the catch! Jades didn’t need culling since they lived in communes largely unaffected by the dangers of the surface, but the Mother Grub—the cornerstone of the troll species—had to be in perfect health, a task that required the efforts of the entire caste. Before the current Compasse’s rule, no one even considered the jades, some trolls even forgetting there was a caste between olive and teal, but since her Radience took the throne she instilled a rule that was lauded as ‘very generous:’ a century of service, a decade of surface.  
  
“What are the caverns like?”  
  
A sharp, acidic current of terror seeped up from Sundance’s subconscious as she contemplated the caves, shrieking like death. But aloud, she said, “They’re… very large. Larger than most cities. It’s easy to get lost. It’s very warm, too. Humid and… rather dark…”  
  
_So dark, so very dark, too dark, no more dark, please no more dark, never again, NEVER AGAIN—_  
  
“Can I visit?” Karkat asked.  
  
Sundance shook her head. “No, outsiders aren’t allowed in the caverns. It’s not very interesting anyway.”  
  
“How long until you go back to the caverns?”  
  
“About two sweeps.”  
  
“Fuck, you’re gonna miss my titling day!” Karkat frowned. “Hey, maybe if I asked the Compasse, she’d let you come to the ceremony!”  
  
Sundance leaned forward a little. “Really now? She’d do that for you?”  
  
“Yeah, I’d just have to ask her!”  
  
“I would love that, thank you!” Sundance said with a smile almost as bright as the star in her name.  
  
Gamzee raised a hand delicately. “Sorry to bust in here, but I got a motherfucking question,” he said.  
  
“Oh!” Sundance jumped. “What is it, Mirthful?”  
  
“I was just getting my wonder on as to how many terms of service you’ve had in the caverns.”  
  
“Just one so far. My first century ended about eight sweeps ago.”  
  
“And your average jade is gonna live to be five, maybe six hundred… So really, you’re only gonna live ten percent of your motherfucking life on the surface when all is said and done? Do I got my math right?”  
  
Sundance’s smile cracked. The face barely masked her internal screaming. Gamzee grinned.  _She looks so funny right now._  
  
“…Yes. That’s right,” she answered, her voice thin.  
  
“So you’re… a hundred and eighteen sweeps old!” Karkat interrupted. “Did you know that Mirthful is a hundred and seven? You’re older than him!”  
  
“Yeah, I guess she motherfucking is,” Gamzee smiled a little wider. “What do you think of that, big sis?”  
  
“It’s… hilarious,” Sundance said. “Sorry, I’d love to talk with you more about… about titles and everything, but I… I should go. I had a few errands I was going to do before sunrise.” She fixed her face and turned a very sincere smile back to Karkat. “I’ll see you again at our next lesson. And please, remember to invite me to your titling day!”  
  
“I will! Bye!” He waved goodbye to Sundance as she skipped out of the block. Karkat hopped down from his seat and picked up the plate of barely-touched cookies. “Mirthful, you take the Grub-C. We’ll bring it back to my block.”  
  
“Are you gonna eat all those motherfucking cookies?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“But dinner’s in an hour.”  
  
“You think I give a fuck? Look at all these! They’re gonna go bad if I don’t eat them!”  
  
Burdened with cookies and simulated fruit drink, Karkat and Gamzee returned to Karkat’s block and ruined Karkat’s appetite so thoroughly he had a stomachache long into the day, which had Gamzee tapping his anti-pale distraction pattern on his leg for hours.


	12. Wriggling Day's Dream

Karkat turned five, and rather than the usual boring dinner party that mostly consisted of the Compasse talking  _about_  Karkat with her friends, she promised to take Karkat to see a play. She wouldn’t tell him which one, and smiled conspiratorially every time Karkat tried to wheedle the answer out of her. On his wriggling day, she assembled an entourage—herself, Karkat, Gamzee, the Seafarer, Sundance, Karkat’s tutor, and a few others—and they departed to the nearest town. Karkat was antsy the whole ride, insisting that the Compasse tell him  _now_ , it was his wriggling day already, he should know!  
  
“Hush, Karkat,” she said. “The surprise will be all the sweeter when you see it.”  
  
And it was. When they arrived at the theater, Karkat saw the banners and posters advertising the play. His shit did an acrobatic fucking pirouette and won every single gold medal in existence.  
  
“OH MY GOD! OH MY  _FUCKING_  GOD, IT’S ‘THE DIMMEST DAY’S DREAM!’” Karkat shrieked, gesturing futilely at the theater. “OH MY FUCK, WE’RE GOING TO SEE IT!? LIVE!?”  
  
“Yes, we are!” the Compasse answered. “And the actors will meet us after, so you can talk to them.”  
  
Karkat’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. His pitch started to escalate to match his volume. “YOU—YOU’RE KIDDING! YOU’RE PULLING MY FROND! THIS HAS TROLL PATRICK STEWART IN IT! AND TROLL JUDI DENCH!!!”  
  
“Yes! And you get to meet both of them and the rest of the cast!” the Compasse smiled.  
  
His screeching pitch finally tripped his voice into hoarse whisper as Karkat turned to Gamzee. “ _Troll Judi Dench! Oh my god!!!_ ” he hissed. Gamzee had never seen the little troll so happy, and he laughed as Karkat tackle-hugged the Compasse, the most honest positive emotion he had showed toward her in sweeps.  
  
When they entered the theater, they had a small crisis of seating—Karkat wanted to sit next to Gamzee, Sundance,  _and_  the Compasse, but he only had two sides—which Sundance solved by choosing to sit behind Karkat. They took their seats in a reserved royal box, and Karkat practically vibrated with excitement and enthusiastic chatter as they waited for the lights to go down. The Compasse reminded him he had to be quiet during the play, but not even that good-natured scolding could break Karkat’s good mood.  
  
As one of Troll Shakespeare’s greatest works, and his objectively best romantic comedy,  _The Dimmest Day’s Dream_  told the story of nine trolls who had fallen into a bitter and unsatisfying arrangement of quadrants with each other, mostly for political reasons. Then, on the dimmest day of the sweep where the sun barely rises at all, they all journeyed into a forest where butterfly-winged fey trolls were rumored to live. Due to a dispute between the Fey Empress and her vacillating matesprit-kismesis, the poor heroes found themselves entangled in a complex web of enchantments that had their quadrants spinning faster than a plate on a stick, magically falling in and out of hate and love with each other. Then, after five acts full of romantic hijinks, poor communication, and animal transformations, the protagonists solved all their problems, achieved troll serendipity, and returned to their hives happier than they dreamed possible.  
  
Karkat had read the play and cried for an hour straight. Then he read it again and cried again. Then he found a movie adaptation, cried at that, and continued to cry at every movie adaptation he got his claws on. Granted, many other books and movies could make Karkat’s tear ducts overflow with emotion, but  _Dimmest Day’s Dream_  had artistic merit and didn’t need defending.  
  
The Compasse had come through. Karkat was in heaven.  
  
The play was good. Really good. Deserving of all the critical praise lavished on those shiny posters outside. The sets sparkled and moved organically. The lighting drew the eye exactly where it needed to go. The actors conveyed their emotions through the old-timey lines flawlessly. Gamzee glanced at Karkat every so often, and found the little troll mouthing just about every line as the actors said them.  _You motherfucking dork_ , he thought, tapping his hand on his leg.  
  
During the first of four intermissions, the lights went up, and Karkat had the chance to stand and stretch his legs and talk. Most of his intermission chatter was directed at the Compasse and Sundance, since Gamzee had heard his gushing before. He took that time to look around. Most of the audience looked to be coolbloods. How expensive were these tickets? Surely the crowd knew they were in the presence of the Empress, right? He glanced at her Radiance, and noticed she and Seafarer holding hands. He smiled a little, and leaned behind Karkat (standing backwards on his chair to talk to Sundance) and asked, “So, my fishy friends, what do you think?”  
  
“Oh, it’s  _wonderful!_ ” the Compasse gushed. “This is the best staging I’ve ever seen!”  
  
“How many times have you seen this play?”  
  
“Four. The Seafarer and I last saw it, oh… Fifty sweeps ago?” She turned to her moirail for confirmation, and he nodded.  
  
“Give or take a decade,” he agreed.  
  
“Pretty good story, don’t you think?”  
  
“It’s a hopeful little tale,” the Seafarer said. “Makes you remember that everythin’ can change at a moment’s notice, feelin’s-ways.”  
  
“And change for the better!” the Compasse added, patting the Seafarer’s shoulder, a tasteful, public pap. He curled his hand around hers and smiled a pinched, fishy smile.  
  
In the second act, most of the mischievous fey-trolls started working their dark magics up on the poor heroes, flipping their quadrants and making a rancorous mess. Gamzee liked this act a lot more. Troll Judi Dench pulled out all the stops in her performance as the Fey Empress…  
  
…And then Gamzee felt a small hand cover his.  
  
He flinched, looked down, and saw that Karkat had placed his little hand on top of his, the tips of his fingers edging forward to slide between the gaps in Gamzee’s. He looked over at Karkat to see if he even realized what he was doing, and the young troll met his eyes with a small smile. He was so cute. He was so motherfucking cute.  
  
Five was no better than four. Four was no better than three.  
  
Gamzee pulled his hand back and tucked it under his opposite elbow.  
  
Karkat hissed at him, “Put it back!”  
  
“Why?” Gamzee whispered, hoping his voice didn’t sound as panicked as he felt.  _He’s a wiggler. A child. Stay back._  
  
“I wanna hold hands!”  
  
“We can’t!”  
  
“Why not?!”  
  
The hushed conversation felt like shouting, so Gamzee just shushed Karkat as quickly as he could. “I’ll tell you later, I promise.”  
  
Karkat folded his arms and slid down in his chair, a cloud of anger covering his otherwise impressively good mood while Gamzee stewed in uncomfortable regret. He could not touch him. He wanted to touch him. He  _could not motherfucking touch him!_  Not even if Karkat asked for it! What did a five-sweep troll know about healthy relationships!? He should be crushing on those trolls his age he met on the Internet, not on his adult culler-lusus!  
  
When act two ended, Karkat stood up. “Where’s the load gaper?” he demanded.  
  
“One of the ushers can show you,” the Compasse said.  
  
“I’ll take the little bro,” Gamzee offered. “My legs wanna get their motherfucking stretch on.”  
  
Before anyone could question them too closely, Gamzee and Karkat left the box and traveled the halls of the theater until they found a small glass-encased balcony, tucked away. They weren’t in private, but would still be left alone.  
  
“Alright, little bro, the thing you got to motherfucking understand—” Gamzee started.  
  
“Don’t lecture me from on high like that,” Karkat interrupted. He pointed at the carpeted floor in front of him. “Kneel.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I said kneel. Don’t talk down to me. If you’re going to tell me what I can and can’t do, tell it to me on my level.”  
  
Gamzee hesitated. He tried to think of an alternative, but the longer Karkat stared at him—hell,  _glared_  at him—the further those options appeared. After a minute, he crouched down and knelt, so that he and Karkat’s eyes were at the same level.  
  
“Now explain to me why I can’t hold your hand,” Karkat ordered. “The Compasse and Seafarer were holding hands.”  
  
“They do that because they’re pale for each other, and that’s not what we are.”  
  
“Shoosh-paps and feelings jams in piles are pale. People hold hands for their matesprits and aupsistices too.”  
  
“We’re not in any motherfucking quadrant.”  
  
“Exactly. So we’ll hold hands as best friends.”  
  
Karkat’s eyes were so certain, so  _strong_. He knew what he wanted from Gamzee and expected Gamzee to answer. And Gamzee wanted so badly to answer,  _yes_ , he’d hold Karkat’s hand, he’d do anything Karkat asked, he’d cuddle the redblood through the whole show if Karkat wanted…  _Fuck…_  
  
“…I’m not comfortable doing that, little bro,” Gamzee answered. “Gives me some wicked sickness in my digestion sack to think about it.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you’ve never wanted to hold my hand until you saw a motherfucking pair of palebros holding hands.”  
  
Karkat sighed. “Okay, I see your point there. It’s a romantic play, and yes, I got the idea from some moirails. But I don’t get why you feel  _sick_  about holding hands with me.”  
  
“You… don’t get why?”  
  
“No, I don’t.”  
  
“Well, you know how old I am…”  
  
“So what?”  
  
“Messiahs have mercy, little bro! You know what I’m talking about! You know what’s motherfucking wrong about a troll old as me holding hands with one young as you!”  
  
“Ugh, you think it’s like  _that!?_  No way!” Karkat stuck his tongue out. “You think I feel pale for you? I think that’s the grossest thing you’ve ever said to me.”  
  
Gamzee choked for a second. With just a few words, Karkat delivered a punch in the stomach and a slap across the face. “You… don’t feel pale for me? You’re sure?”  
  
Karkat nodded. “Absolutely.”  
  
“Then you wanna hold hands because…?”  
  
“Because I just want to. It feels right,” he said with a shrug.  
  
 _No. Feels wrong. It feels wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG!_  It has to feel wrong, Gamzee has to  _make_  it feel wrong… No, but he couldn’t! Pushing Karkat away backfired. Hurting him was out of the question. He rubbed his hands together, thinking through what he’d just heard. Karkat wanted to hold his hand… but said he didn’t feel pale… so maybe he could just let the wiggler do what he wanted? So long as he didn’t reciprocate, didn’t escalate, this wouldn’t get out of hand…  
  
“Okay then… I’ve got some motherfucking rules,” Gamzee said. He had to swallow to make the words come out of his mouth. “First rule, only touch my hand. Second rule, only when the lights in the theater are out. Let go before they come back on. Fourth—”  
  
“Third,” Karkat corrected.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
He smiled. “You skipped third, you dumbass.”  
  
“Right… Third is… don’t tell anyone,” Gamzee finished, with his own think pan  _howling_  at him with how creepy that sounded.  _This is how predators manipulate wrigglers, ‘our little secret, diamond in the dark,’ you’re a sick grub-piler, a monster and a sinner and the Messiahs will KNOW._  
  
“Is that it? That’s all so easy. What the fuck were you even worried about?” Karkat stood up straighter and smirked like he had solved a particularly difficult problem in tutoring. “Now c’mon, let’s go back.”  
  
They returned for the next act, and as soon as pitch darkness settled over the audience, Karkat’s small hand reached across the armrest and threaded his fingers between Gamzee’s. Karkat would surely do nothing more than hold; it was Gamzee who wanted more: raise Karkat’s hand to his face and feel his soft palm against his cheek, wrap an arm around his thin shoulders, whisper stupid jokes and soothing nothings to feel his body shake with laughter and then calm again. Gamzee had to dig his free hand into his legs just to keep from breaking his own rules.   
  
He nearly broke his skin by the time act three ended. Karkat obediently let Gamzee’s hand go two lines before the end of the act, and applauded with the rest of the audience. When the lights came up for yet another intermission, Karkat smiled with thanks. Gamzee struggled to smile back, dreading and longing for when the lights would go out again.  
  
The pattern repeated for the last two acts. Gamzee barely saw the rest of the play, too focused on Karkat’s hand in his. The last act was particularly hard, as Karkat’s fingers clenched around Gamzee’s as everyone found their perfect and highly foreshadowed matches and everything wrapped up with sublime romantic beauty. Yep, Karkat was crying again, and Gamzee had to close his eyes and mutter prayers under his breath just to keep himself from wrapping Karkat in a hug. Someone would motherfucking notice that.  
  
The boy’s tears hadn’t yet dried when the bows finished, and her Radiance, in her infinite compassion, swooped in to address Karkat’s crying, brushing the tears away and crooning that everything was alright. Gamzee watched, half-jealous that the Compasse knew how to comfort Karkat without being disgustingly pale, and half-hoping he could learn her techniques and soothe Karkat without overstepping his bounds as a culler.  
  
There was still one last piece of Karkat’s wriggling day present: the promised meet-and-greet with the stars of the show. The owner of the theater greeted the Compasse and her entourage and led them to a backstage green room, where they would wait for the actors to arrive. Karkat rambled to the nearest adult—Gamzee, Sundance, his tutor—about what he wanted to ask, and no one really had a response for him. Surely he’d have enough time to ask more than one question.  
  
Gamzee noticed the Seafarer check his palmhusk, lean close to the Compasse’s fin, and whisper something. She nodded, gave his cheek a small pap, and the Seafarer departed. Of course, government didn’t pause just for Karkat’s wriggling day, and it suited all parties involved if the Seafarer abandoned the festivities to support the Empire.  
  
 _They’re pale as two motherfuckers can be,_  Gamzee thought, but he remembered Karkat’s comment that the Seafarer… oh, how did he phrase it… hated the way the Compasse praised him? Gamzee had no idea where Karkat was getting that motherfucking noise from, but maybe he’d see it too if he just paid closer attention. If there was going to be a relationships upset at the palace, Gamzee wanted to know about it sooner rather than later, so he could seek metaphorical high ground and stay out of the storm.  
  
The actors arrived, and Karkat once again flipped his shit in joy. Out of respect to ancient performers, modern actors took on a pseudonym created out of a collection of nonsense syllables when they joined the entertainment industry. In the past, it was to help distinguish a role from an individual, and even in the modern age these traditional ‘Troll Nonsense Gobbledygook’ titles persisted.  
  
Karkat had fantastic questions. He asked about the actors’ methods and the ways they connected with their characters, the connections to other famous roles they portrayed, the rehearsal process and the road from script to stage. He asked about the ways the cast trusted each other and built something amazing out of their bonds. He listened to the supporting cast, not just the superstars. Honestly, it reminded Gamzee of when he found Karkat standing on a table, practically preaching to the minstrelisters. He asked blade-sharp questions that made these actors lay their true feelings bare. Any single detail—a line, a look, a stance—was an opening he could use to make them open up.  
  
Is that why Gamzee caved so easily to Karkat’s wish to hold his hand?  
  
 _Who motherfucking knows?_  Gamzee really had to stop questioning shit. It wasn’t good for his health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4/13! :3


	13. Help A Motherfucker Out

After a sweep of training, Karkat’s body was loose and strong. His proportions reflected his true age, but his muscles showed tone and his trim frame bent and held shapes easily. Gamzee introduced him to some lightly weighted sticks, a good stand-in for both clubs and swords.  
  
“What about stuff that wasn’t at the Big Top? Like bows or axes?” Karkat asked. “Can you teach me that?”  
  
“If the Jokers are willing, I can use any motherfucking weapon I want.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“I just ask it, ‘what do you wanna do to this here motherfucker?’ and if I’m in-tune, the weapon answers.”  
  
Karkat rolled his eyes. “At least you didn’t call it a miracle… So we’ll find some weapons eventually, right?”  
  
“I could tell you where to find some right now, but you’re not going to like how.”  
  
In a smooth motion, Karkat leaned down and covered his toes with his palms. His legs stayed straight as pencils. “Just tell me, you clown.”  
  
“Seafarer’s ceremonial swords are probably part of a bigger collection—”  
  
“Nope. Stop talking. Stop talking right now. I’m through with begging that asshole for shit.”  
  
Gamzee smiled. “Alright, motherfucker. Just thought I’d tell you.”  
  
On the morning of that conversation—a few weeks after Karkat turned five—the tutor turned to Gamzee when he and Karkat arrived for the young troll’s schoolfeeding.  
  
“Actually, before we begin, Mistress Sundance said she wanted to speak with you. She’s free this hour.”  
  
Gamzee quirked an eyebrow. “I hear what you’re saying, motherfucker, but my obligation is to stick with the little dude.”  
  
“I’ll be  _fine_ , Mirthful. Go talk with Sundance,” Karkat told him, already cracking his knuckles in anticipation of hitting the books. The tutor whimpered. If they didn’t have challenging enough material, they’d be in trouble.  
  
“Well… If you say so, little bro. If either of you need me, just motherfucking holler.”  
  
Gamzee found the Mistress in her natural habitat: the block converted into the palace dance studio. She was dancing when he arrived, eyes closed and body flowing like a drop of oil in a swirling pool. Gamzee watched her peaceful dance for a minute, then looked for a moment to step in and shatter her. He waited for her to raise her arms in an open pose, and in a flash, placed his right hand on the small of her back, left holding her right wrist, a pose altered from the one she taught Karkat in their lessons.  
  
When Gamzee touched her, her eyes opened, she jumped and screamed. While she struggled to catch her breath, Gamzee chuckled at the spike of fear in her blood pusher.  
  
“You wanted to speak to me, my sunny sister?” Gamzee asked.  
  
Sundance stared at Gamzee for another minute, catching her breath. “…That wasn’t funny.”  
  
“I’ve got a mighty different opinion on what kind of wicked humor draws up laughter,” Gamzee said. “If you like, we can discuss the motherfucking laughology of a good joke.”  
  
“Let’s not,” Sundance straightened her skirt and stood as tall as possible, which wasn’t very tall at all. “This is no laughing matter. I need your help.”  
  
“Well shit, you know I’m all up and ready to help a sister out.”  
  
“I am scheduled to return to the caverns in a sweep and a half. You’ve probably realized this, but I don’t want to go.”  
  
“Yeah, I got you. What does that have to do with me?”  
  
She squared her jaw and looked him in the eye. “You’re going to help me desert.”  
  
Gamzee burst out laughing again. “Sorry, sister, I thought you said we  _weren’t_  getting our joke on!”  
  
“I’m not joking. You’re the coolest landdweller I know and the Grand Highblood’s heir. You can help me run.”  
  
“You’ve got that all wrong, sunny sister. I don’t have a pinch of power when it comes to the caves. It’s up to the fishy sister who gets a pardon from color duties.”  
  
“Right. That’s still my first plan. If Karkat can convince the Compasse to let me stay, then I won’t need your help at all. But I’ve seen the way she treats him. She hears him, but doesn’t listen. Karkat has nowhere near as much influence as he thinks.”  
  
Gamzee shrugged. “It’s a buzzbeast in the little bro’s moisture gel, that the Compasse don’t get her listen on to him, but what can he do? It’s a short life when you’re that warm, and she just wants him to live it happily.”  
  
“That isn’t the point. The point is I am  _not_  returning to the caves, so you need to help me find a way to escape.”  
  
“By doing what, exactly?”  
  
“Arrange transport for me. Safehouses, visas, supplies. Anything I need to become someone else and disappear.”  
  
“Now why would a law-abiding minstrelister such as myself do all of that illicit motherfucking shit for you?”  
  
Sundance leveled her deep-green stare with Gamzee. “Because the aforementioned minstrelister has pale feelings for the Empress’s young ward.”  
  
Gamzee froze. “…That’s a heavy accusation to go throwing around me.”  
  
“Jades have excellent dark vision. I was sitting right behind Karkat. I saw you hold hands in the theater.”  
  
“Best friends can hold hands,” he growled. “You can’t use that as proof.”  
  
“It’s not just that. Underage relationships are hard to see unless you’re looking for them, but I started looking. The way you watch him, follow him, obey him… You pity him so much you’re almost sick over it, and you want nothing more than for him to pity you. We’ll save time if you stop denying it.”  
  
“You still don’t got any motherfucking evidence.”  
  
“It’s a truth that can’t be proven, but I don’t need an airtight case. Just a public one. I can file an accusation with culling services in seconds. Any allegations will at least draw attention from the Compasse and the Grand Highblood. You’ll have to testify to them that the accusation is false when you know it’s not.” Sundance paused and smiled, showing off two long, sharp fangs. “Tell me, can minstrelisters be excommunicated? What happens to a purpleblood who is kicked out of the caste religion?”  
  
Gamzee said nothing. The details of excommunication were shrouded in mystery, even to him, but everyone knew:  _when a believer falls, purple blood paints the Big Top._  
  
“And even if your caste supports you, you surely wouldn’t be allowed to stay with Karkat if I accused you of romancing him,” Sundance continued. “Separation from your beloved might be the worst punishment of all.”  
  
“And what happens to me if I assist a deserter, huh? Probably the same motherfucking thing.”  
  
“You have perigees to prepare. Make a plan, cover your tracks. By the time anyone figures out what you did, your service to the Empress should be long over, if they find out at all.”  
  
Gamzee stood silent for a moment. He had seen so much of politics here in the palace and he knew that these backroom deals fueled the imperial engine. But he had tried so hard to stay away from it all. Sundance had Gamzee’s horns confiscated, and refused to hand them back to him until he gave her what she wanted.  
  
“This is the reason you became Karkat’s teacher, isn’t it?” Gamzee said. “You heard the Empress needed a dance instructor, so you shoved your way in and latched your fangs all up on Karkat’s neck.”  
  
Sundance pursed her lips. “A troll does what she can to further her ambitions.”  
  
“You motherfucking leech.”  
  
“Ambition and emotion aren’t mutually exclusive. It’s not so different from what you’re doing, Mirthful. That treaty says you’ll have lifespan immunity from culling obligations after Karkat grows up, won’t you?”  
  
 _After he dies_ , Gamzee remembered the exact text, but he said nothing.  
  
“Exactly,” Sundance continued, as if Gamzee agreed with her. “You’re here for your own gain too, but you’ve still managed to fall in love with your cullee. Karkat is my favorite student, and I never want to see him hurt. But I don’t care who I have to hurt for my freedom.”  
  
She stepped forward, staring up at Gamzee. The arches of her horns nearly reached his chin, but the glare in her eyes made her seem miles tall.  
  
“Secure it for me, and I won’t have to hurt you… or anyone you love.”  
  
Gamzee bared his teeth, but with an elegant skip she left the room before he could direct the chucklevoodoos her way and make her regret threatening him. He stood alone in the studio, with just himself and the painted clown in the mirrors.  
  


* * *

  
Karkat didn’t suspect a thing, as usual. Gamzee had his expression mastered by the time he rejoined Karkat in tutoring—catching Karkat in the middle of tearing his tutor a new asshole for giving him a too-easy lesson—and when they next had a dance class, Sundance greeted Gamzee as if nothing had changed in their relationship. Everything was fine. Everything was normal.  
  
Except Gamzee had a sweep and a half to figure out how to help a jadeblood desert the brooding caverns, or else Sundance would lob a grenade of sin and scandal into Gamzee’s life.  
  
 _How motherfucking stupid was I, to forget jades got wicked dark vision…_  
  
Gamzee started with the most cursory of research possible, something he could easily deny, like fictional cavebreak stories about jades fleeing their posts. Anyone would be interested in a good cavebreak story once in a while. Motherfucking miracles, those stories. And he paid a lot more attention to the structure of the amphibortress. Likely, Sundance would have to flee the palace, and she’d need an unguarded exit. Messiahs, why did this have to happen? First falling for a child, now helping a rogue jadeblood…  
  
Well, he did have one way to solve Sundance’s problem instantly. If he exposed her to his most intense chucklevoodoos for long enough, she’d go insane and be declared unfit for duty. Problem solved… except Gamzee knew that wasn’t what she was asking for. When she asked for freedom, she probably wanted the ability to enjoy that freedom. No point in being a mischievous literal wish-granter about it. Plus, for all that Sundance was being a wicked motherfucking pain in the goddamn ass, Gamzee didn’t really think of her as a bad troll. He wondered what he’d be driven to in a similar situation, hard as it was to imagine.  
  
Gamzee continued caring for Karkat on autopilot. Fighting practice happened every morning, same as always, and most everything else he needed to do only required his physical presence. More and more often, Karkat had to scold Gamzee for not keeping up with his stories about conversations and his ideas.  
  
“I already told you who SS is! The blade collector, stilettoSpecialist? Can you pay attention to what I’m saying for two seconds, you stupid fuck?!” Karkat jabbed a finger at his chest. “Don’t ignore me like the Compasse!”  
  
“Sorry, little bro,” Gamzee said. “There’s just some wicked distractions all up in my think pan.”  
  
Karkat frowned. “Distractions? What’s distracting you?”  
  
Gamzee scratched behind an ear. It wouldn’t do him any good to tell Karkat about Sundance’s ultimatum. Besides, if Karkat liked Sundance enough to advocate for her to the Empress, then there was a (minuscule) chance that Gamzee wouldn’t even need to break the law. The whole situation could resolve without his involvement if Karkat retained a positive opinion of the jadeblood.  
  
“It’s just some motherfuckers from the Church making some demands to get their hear on to my opinions,” Gamzee lied.  
  
“Your opinion on what?”  
  
“Can’t say, little bro. It’s some of the… upper-level shit, classified for head minstrelisters and higher.”  
  
“Why does your bullshit clown religion have so many secrets? What could you possibly be hiding that needs to be so classified? Advanced Faygo-Swigging For Assholes?”  
  
“Nah, my brother. Without getting into the particulars, only head minstrelisters are allowed to know how the miracles happen. You saw them at the Big Top.”  
  
“What miracles? It was just a bunch of flashy acrobatics and stunts.”  
  
“Those are the miracles that the brothers brought. I’m talking about other things, like the blood.”  
  
Karkat’s face turned ashy. “Blood? There was blood there?”  
  
“Of course. All those wicked colors were blood.”  
  
“That was paint.”  
  
“Blood.”  
  
“I got it all over my fucking body, I could feel it! It was  _paint_!”  
  
“The paint was the blood. And it’s a secret how we motherfucking make that miracle happen.”  
  
Karkat shook his head and muttered, “fucking clowns,” under his breath, but continued, “So it’s the job of religious leaders to know how the ‘miracles’ happen, and then somehow pretend they don’t know to everyone else?”  
  
“That’s one way of looking at it. It’s one part believing in the miracles even when you know how they happen, and another part believing there’s always gonna be another miracle you can’t hope to understand.”  
  
“But literally everything is a miracle, right?”  
  
“Yeah, in its own motherfucking way.”  
  
“So then, why is it so important that certain miracles stay concealed? I could go through and study everything in the whole fucking world and I still wouldn’t understand a single fraction of a percent of what goes on. Even if I was purple and had a thousand sweeps to try and unravel every single shitty miracle in the universe, I wouldn’t be able to do it.”  
  
Gamzee shrugged. “It’s not something I ever questioned all that hard. I just take the miracles for what they are.”  
  
“Well, if things weren’t so goddamn classified then maybe you could ask for some help on whatever your problem is,” Karkat huffed.  
  
“Oh, the way you do?” Gamzee managed to smile a little.  
  
“Of course! I ask for help all the goddamn time!”  
  
“That’s a pile of hoofbeastshit if I ever saw it, little bro. You absolutely hate whenever a motherfucker tries to get his help on to you.”  
  
“Ugh, that’s not what I mean! That’s when ignorant nookstains think that I can’t handle something and try to help me when I don’t need it. When I  _need_ help, I find someone who can actually help me!”  
  
“Where do you find those motherfuckers?”  
  
“In books, online, whatever. They teach me about society and how to schoolfeed hemoist douchebags, the way the Compasse or Tutor or even you never could.” He folded his arms and stuck his nose in the air, a pose Gamzee was becoming accustomed to seeing directed at the Compasse. “If you have to ask for help, ask someone who can actually help.”  
  
An idea popped into Gamzee’s think pan. Not quite a solution, but a direction. “So what you’re saying is, if I got some wicked conundrum on my motherfucking hands, there’s no need for me to try and solve it all on my lonesome… So long as I can figure out which other motherfucker is able to help me out?”  
  
“Exactly! Now are you done having your personal faith crisis? I want to tell you what SS said about curved blades.”  
  
“How curvy are you talking?”  
  
Karkat rolled his eyes again. “Wow,  _that’s_  how early you stopped listening?! I asked him about sickles, you dumb fuck!”  
  
“Sickles? Why sickles?”  
  
“They’re like swords, but completely different. I found some GrubTube videos of sickle artists and the steps use a lot of circular motions, like what I’m learning with Sundance. And it’s just kinda… poetic, I guess?”  
  
“What’s so poetic about it?”  
  
“A sickle is like a sword that’s not doing what a sword is supposed to do. Like someone messed up when making a sword and decided to just go fight with this curved hunk of shit anyway.” Karkat explained. “It’s like a mutant sword.”  
  
Gamzee smiled and ruffled Karkat’s hair. “That’s gonna be a motherfucking perfect weapon for you, little bro. So you’ve been kicking the wicked shit with SS over sickles?”  
  
“Yeah, he knows a lot about them, though he’s really a knife guy at heart…”  
  
With a calmer mind, Gamzee settled and listened to Karkat talk about his theoretical favorite weapon. Maybe, by the time Karkat turned six, Gamzee could get his claws on a set of sickles for him. Seeing Karkat swing those curved blades would be worth the pain: both to acquire weapons and protect Sundance.


	14. Ask And You Shall Receive

Gamzee’s hunt for help did not start as soon as he realized he needed it. For one, most of his social circle was not able to assist at all. His friends outside the amphibiortress were other purplebloods. Figuring out who among them would be able to hide a jadeblood would mean explaining why he needed to hide her. And though the multitude of noble, intelligent, and powerful trolls coming in and out of the palace every day could probably pull the strings he needed, he didn’t trust any of those motherfuckers. Why would any of them help him?  
  
In the meantime, Gamzee found a smaller project to occupy him: he contacted stilettoSpecialist to commission a set of mutant swords. SS was curt and businesslike. He didn’t actually know much about cardinalGladiator. Even with ‘red’ right in the title, Karkat typed in grey and said nothing about his blood color, age, or living arrangement. Gamzee respected this anonymity and introduced himself as “A FrIeNd oF CgS” and they got down to business. They negotiated the details of a set of durable, blunted sickles: heavy and balanced like the real deal, but unable to slice anyone open, with the option to call an Oresmith and have them sharpened someday.  
  
Funds changed hands via PayTroll. A courier delivered a package to a post-box. Gamzee smuggled it into the palace after a ritual and stowed it deep in a horn pile. He’d put some ribbon or something on it later. But he had a question to ask.  
  
TC: OnE MoRe tHiNg  
TC: YoU WoUlDn’t hApPeN To kNoW WhO To cOnTaCt iF YoU’Re iN A PiNcH AnD NeEd tO BrEaK SoMe mOtHeRfUcKiNg lAwS?  
SS: Depends on what you need, how fast you need it, and how much you can pay.  
TC: I NeEd tO HeLp aN AcQuAiNtAnCe oF MiNe rUn aWaY FrOm tHeIr wHoLe mOtHeRfUcKiNg lIfE.  
TC: I’Ve gOt hAlF A SwEeP Of tImE, A HuNk oF ChAnGe, aNd a fEw cEnTuRiEs tO RePaY AnY DeBt.  
SS: Spare me the details. I don’t want to know what kind of shit you’re deep in.  
SS: I’ve never done business with her myself, and you’d have to be insane to ask, but you could hit up Roulette. She’s in the region where I sent your package.  
SS: Just offer your money before you offer your life.  
TC: MuCh oBlIgEd, MoThErFuCkEr. Is ‘rOuLeTtE’ GoNnA Be eNoUgH To fInD HeR?  
SS: Probably not.  
SS: Her full name is Marquise Roulette Prospera.  
  
So he looked into her. Found a picture. He recognized her. She had an invitation to Karkat’s next wriggling day party. Gamzee marked the envelope with his sign right before the post mistress took it away.

* * *

  
On the 12th lunar perigee of the 6th dark season’s equinox, Karkat turned six.  
  
Compared to the tiny child fresh from the pupa Gamzee had met five sweeps ago, now Karkat was now a completely different troll. He had parallel passions for terrible romcoms and dense political theory. His secret box of pilfered books had an equal number of steamy novels and essays on governance and the social order. He had pronounced skill in swordplay and forms of classic Beforan dance, but had no real passion in those pursuits beyond their benefits as a stepping stone to other interests, namely being really badass. He spent hours on the Internet waging a righteous crusade of intellectualism against thick-headed half-wits from far reaches of the planet, which frequently got him banned from polite forums. His reputation had spread far enough that some forum moderators knew to ban users named cardinalGladiator before they even posted… but the mods had to sleep sometimes. Karkat slept very rarely.   
  
It would still be a few sweeps before Karkat’s eyes began to fill with his cardinal blood, but Gamzee could see the foundation of an adult troll take shape. As his wriggling day approached, Karkat started debating with the Compasse about how he wanted that occasion celebrated. He admitted that last sweep’s wriggling day was “pretty fucking awesome,” but he wanted something a little more social.  
  
“And not so boring that I’ll sit there wishing I could stab forks into my eye sockets and stuff my gander bulbs in my aural canal. By which I mean,  _not another fucking dinner_ ,” Karkat explained. “I’ve been learning to dance for the last sweep, so why not something that lets everyone dance with each other?”  
  
Gamzee made no effort to hide his smile—why bother to hide it? He’s the Mirthful after all—because he knew Karkat only got the idea from Troll Rodgers and Hammerstien’s ‘Sootmaid’ and wanted to be the prince giving a ball. He wondered if Karkat equated the Compasse more closely with the Fairy Grubmother who delivered Sootmaid from all her woes or with the Unfit Culler who stifled Sootmaid’s gifts and mistreated her endlessly. Maybe she was a little bit of both.  
  
The Compasse had to leave before Karkat was finished spelling out his wriggling day demands, but if Gamzee had to wager he’d bet on her Radiance listening to Karkat this time. As the Compasse gathered herself for her next appointment, Gamzee stepped close and whispered, “If I could get my suggest on, maybe bring along a few trolls closer to six than six hundred?”  
  
She nodded. “Thank you, Mirthful. I’ll remember that.”  
  
When the day arrived, Karkat got his wish to be the fair Sootmaid, dressed like a tiny prince with epaulettes and a dinky red silk cord thingie that attached to a brooch on his chest and looped under his arm. Gamzee didn’t know the name of it and couldn’t be bothered to find out. He got to be the Archduke at the end of the line too, as each and every guest introduced themselves to Karkat before departing to enjoy the food or music, much like they would if this was the Empress’s wriggling day.  
  
This sweep showed a much better representation of warmbloods, but Gamzee quickly realized that they had not been invited directly. A group of trolls would approach Karkat, fashionably displaying their caste and a few colored accents from trolls important to them. The coolest of the group would introduce themself and the next-coolest, and that next-coolest would introduce the troll warmer than them… The longest chain Gamzee witnessed was four, a blue stating her name and the name of an aqua, who presented a yellow, who introduced a burgundy.  
  
_She invited the cullers and they brought their cullees._  Gamzee realized. Karkat obviously noticed, but didn’t seem to care too much, because for the first time in his life he was not the youngest guest at his own party. There were a small handful of pre-titled trolls there, and the fours and fives seemed particularly impressed with this six-sweeper who stood very straight and used very big words. Gamzee hoped these younger trolls would catch Karkat’s eye and maybe his quadrants. It hurt to hope that, but he did anyway.  
  
About an hour after the presentations ended and the dance floor dominated everyone’s attention, someone at Gamzee’s shoulder spoke up. “Quite the soirée, don’t you agree?”  
  
The Marquise stood beside him with a glass in her hand and a smile on her face. He hadn’t heard her approach, but a century of honk horns out of nowhere prepared Gamzee to not flinch.  
  
“A little dude doesn’t turn six every motherfucking day,” Gamzee agreed.  
  
“I was expecting my invitation, but it was a delightful surprise to find the envelope tagged with your honorable sigil.”  
  
“Just wanted to make sure you knew to come and talk at me.”  
  
“Well, here I am, and here you are. Let’s talk.”  
  
Gamzee scanned the crowd. The Compasse and Seafarer were separately surrounded by clusters of trolls. Sundance was on the dance floor; her partner looked like a newborn hoofbeast in comparison to her sublime grace. Karkat stood near the nutrition spread, talking with a young girl in a blue dress about either a book he just finished or how he met Troll Judi Dench last sweep.  
  
“There’s a… certain motherfucker trying to abandon her station,” Gamzee said. “And I gotta help her. You can make it happen, right?”  
  
The Marquise flicked her hand toward the door. “I don’t discuss business in public. Can you leave your ‘best friend’ for a few minutes?”  
  
Gamzee nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”  
  
He and the Marquise found an empty room, and Gamzee quickly explained the situation. He went light on the details of how Sundance managed to blackmail him, and as he spoke, he studied the Marquise. She had a haughty but thoroughly noble demeanor and a peculiar seven-pupiled eye he hadn’t noticed the first time they met. He reached a little deeper to get a read on what scared her. She was too high in the hemospectrum for him to read her thoughts directly, but he pinpointed something… a fear of being caught. Caught by what? The law? Her past? Her future?  
  
“Your proposal is fascinating,” the Marquise said. “It just so happens that I’ve done some research into how to evade the brooding caverns. Perhaps this is the incentive I need to put those plans to the test.”  
  
“So you’ll do it?”  
  
“Your Mirthfulness! I couldn’t  _poooooooossibly_  break the law like that! It would be treason against the Empress  _and_  the Mother Grub! How could I live with myself if I knew I was responsible for such a heinous crime?”  
  
Gamzee named a sum. The Marquise laughed.  
  
“Well, I’ll consider that a down payment. Something to give the various artisans I’ll need to employ. I’ll expect real payment later.”  
  
“What kind of payment are you talking about?”  
  
“You are asking me to risk my neck to perpetuate an unthinkable crime. Surely I will need your help some time in the future. Consider the size of your debt eightfold the favor I am performing for you.”  
  
“Eightfold!?”  
  
“Are you in a position to refuse me?”  
  
Gamzee clenched his teeth. “How far in the wicked future are you thinking?”  
  
“Surely not before your ascent as Grand Highblood. Rest easy, my good minstrelister.”  
  
A deal like that could spell ruin in the future. But, he faced ruin now if he didn’t take it. Gamzee swallowed and offered his hand. The Marquise shook it, and they returned to the ballroom without another word between them. Looking around for someone to see if someone noticed his departure would be too suspicious; instead, he approached the confection plateau and popped a few candies in his mouth. Fruit flavors blended discordantly, and he tried to focus on that weird little miracle of taste rather than the contract he sealed.  
  
_Motherfucking shit._  
  
He looked toward the dance floor. The orchestra had chosen a red ballad, and flushed couples had taken that as an invitation to monopolize the center of the room. He noticed one pair: a slender troll with looped horns and a shorter one with rounded nubs. Karkat was the leader for that dance, and Sundance gracefully and invisibly corrected Karkat’s errors, adjusting her own height to help Karkat lead her through turns.  
  
That leech. That maggot. That manipulator. But Karkat blushed so happily when he held her and Gamzee’s pale feelings overwhelmed all.  _You don’t deserve this, little bro. Whether she wants to hurt you or not, it’s gonna hurt you. It’s not fair._  
  
The song ended, and as Karkat and Sundance bowed to each other, Gamzee approached them.  
  
“Pardon my wicked motherfucking self,” he offered his hand. “Can I have the next dance with this ninjalicious sun-sister?”  
  
Sundance hesitated but accepted Gamzee’s hand, and they posed in preparation for the next song. The tune was amicable enough, unassociated with a quadrant, which was all good by Gamzee’s book. He didn’t really know any of the quadranted dances, for all that he sat in on Karkat’s lessons. He just stepped into the flow around the dance floor and expected Sundance to follow. With iron-stiff arms, she could match him step for step, even when the steps barely constituted a dance.  
  
“Everything’s set,” he told her.  
  
“You have a plan?”  
  
“I found someone who can make one.”  
  
“You trust them?”  
  
“Trust is a strong word. They’re under contract. Had to pay through the motherfucking face-honker.”  
  
“But they can help.”  
  
“They know your situation inside-out and say it can be done.”  
  
Sundance sighed, and the fear in her mind dissolved. “I knew you’d come through, Mirthful.”  
  
“When you grab a motherfucker by the shame globes of course they’re gonna come through.”  
  
“I’m grateful that I can return your globes to you intact.”  
  
Gamzee grunted, then shoved his hands under Sundance’s arms and lifted her into the air. She kicked her legs behind her and managed to curl one toe to touch the back of her head, like they had choreographed the maneuver.  _You’re always gonna smell like a motherfucking rose, no matter the shit you get dragged through…_  
  
“So what are you going to motherfucking do, once it’s time to go?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“I’ll be in the sun. That’s all that matters. I’ll teach dance, or maybe join a performing troupe.”  
  
“Are you gonna miss your sisters?”  
  
“I haven’t missed them for nine sweeps.”  
  
“Are any of them gonna miss you?”  
  
Sundance frowned a little. “The Benevole will probably miss me… But that’s it. I was always a bit of a black woolbeast. It will be better for everyone, including the Mother Grub, if I don’t go back.”  
  
The song ended, and Gamzee let go of Sundance. “So long as you’re sure.”  
  
“I’ve never been more sure.”  
  
Another troll cut in and asked Sundance for another dance, and showing no signs of exhaustion, she accepted. Gamzee returned to the edges of the dance floor, where Karkat caught up with him.  
  
“Alright, don’t think I’m not on to you, you despicable douchepail,” Karkat elbowed him in the side. Those little jabs were starting to actually hurt, but Gamzee said nothing.  
  
“Onto me about what?” Gamzee asked. He hoped it wasn’t one of the huger secrets.  
  
“You’ve got a crush on Sundance. A caliginous one.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah, maybe I motherfucking do. I don’t know.”  
  
“I don’t understand what you hate about her, but it’s pretty obvious that there’s a pitch contention between you two. Maybe it’s something envy-based. Or, no…” Karkat put a finger on his chin, deep in thought. “No, it’s power based. You two are vying for power, aren’t you?”  
  
“What kind of wicked powers would we be getting our motherfucking spades on over?”  
  
“I don’t know. I just noticed tension when you danced.”  
  
Gamzee shook his head. “Caliginous peculiarities aside, she’s only got a few perigees left on the surface. I can’t see myself in a quadrant with a motherfucker that I only see once a century.”  
  
“Hm. Maybe you’re right. Not such a good match.”  
  
They fell silent as he looked over the crowd. Gamzee tried to put his troubles out of his head by counting the music. It sounded so different than the songs at the Church. Then Karkat spoke: “I don’t want this night to end.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“There’s so many people that I’ve just met and they’re all the tip of their own personal icebergs. Then the way they connect with each other, and the way the people they know affect the things they do… that’s  _politics_ ,” Karkat set his jaw and stood up an inch taller. “And the person who understands those relationships is a  _leader_.”  
  
“Never knew you liked all this scheming so much,” Gamzee said.  
  
“Are you shitting me? This is gold. A true leader is the one who knows how to direct these relationships and make people do what they want without having to force them to be anything else. A leader deals with his followers as they are, not how he thinks they should be.”  
  
Gamzee noticed the pronoun shift and smiled. “Maybe one day when you’re Empress, you can show them how it’s done.”  
  
Karkat smiled too. “If I’m going to be Empress, my first order will be that no one will call me the Compasse. I’ll be something else.”  
  
“Is this that motherfucking title you’ve been working on for almost two sweeps?”  
  
“No. That’s different. I’ll be… the Best Ever.”  
  
Gamzee laughed out loud. “The Best Ever! Motherfuckers won’t know what hit them with a title as on-point as that.”  
  
Karkat smirked, satisfied, and held out his hand. “Now, Mirthful, the Best Ever commands that you dance with him.”  
  
“You don’t have to command me, motherfucker,” Gamzee said, placing his fingers across the entirety of Karkat’s hand. “You just have to ask.”


	15. The Second Set of Answers

The perigees drained away faster than Gamzee expected. The Marquise delivered Gamzee a small ream of documents, bestowing Sundance with a new title, a new sign, and a new color. She’d be disguised as an olive named the Gracious, and would have to wear desaturating lenses in her eyes for the rest of her life and hope to never bled. Gamzee found a book he didn’t care too much about and carved a secret compartment in it for safekeeping.  
  
In the meantime, Sundance finally asked Karkat for help. As the weeks progressed, her smile looked more and more forced, and Karkat caught on.  
  
“It’s nothing, really. I just… know that I’m going to be going back to the caverns soon,” she said.  
  
“Bullshit that’s nothing! It’s bothering you, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes. But to be honest, it’s more than bothering me. It’s… terrifying me,” She gripped her own fingers, and her thoughts supported her words. “I haven’t slept well for weeks now. Every time I close my eyes I feel like I’m already back.”  
  
“Was it really that bad?” he asked.  
  
Sundance nodded, and whispered, “Worse.”  
  
Karkat invited her to sit, and Sundance gave a truer testimony about the caverns than last time Karkat asked. She described the stifling air, the endless stone, the respite blocks like prison cells, and the dim, dim light, nothing bright enough to even imitate a fire, let alone the sun.   
  
“We had clocks and calendars to keep time, but literally every day was the same. I couldn’t tell when the sun set and rose, I couldn’t tell if it rained or snowed, I couldn’t feel the wind… I felt like I was buried in a tomb. There was life all around me as the Mother Grub laid and new grubs hatched, but I was dead. Here on the surface, I finally feel alive again, and I don’t want to lose it.”  
  
Karkat reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Did you tell anyone about how you felt?”  
  
“I told my mentor, but she didn’t understand. She said I had to keep the sun in my heart. But it’s not that easy. I’m so scared that if I go back to the caverns, I’ll die for real.”  
  
His eyes went wide. “You’ll kill  _yourself_?”  
  
“I won’t try to end my own life. But I won’t survive another century either. I know it.” Sundance wiped at her eyes, catching jade tears on her fingers. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be burdening you with this. You have other appointments to meet, don’t you?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s almost time for us to get our wicked dinner on,” Gamzee jumped in.  
  
“Don’t you think this is more important!?” Karkat snapped at Gamzee.  
  
“She’s not leaving tonight. You’ve got time to talk about this wickedness sadness again, if you motherfucking need to.”  
  
Karkat bid a tense farewell to his teacher and immediately dove into the Internet, scouring its reaches for cases where jadebloods earned exemption from cavern duties. Every case involved grievous bodily harm or mental instability, and a majority of those cases still ended up with the jade going to the caverns to be culled by her own caste. He brought his husktop to the nutrition mesa to continue research, and by next evening Gamzee realized that Karkat had stayed up all night again, though a collection of new books proved Karkat had taken a break to go raid a library.  
  
“Lawscale,” Karkat said out of nowhere.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Lawscale is the only Vigilant who ever successfully proved that a cullee’s environment could be detrimental to their well-being. It’s a modern case, decided about forty sweeps ago.” He paused a second, looking at something on his screen. “…She’s alive,” he said, bemused.  
  
“Who is?”  
  
“Vigilant Lawscale.”  
  
“Lots of motherfuckers are alive.”  
  
“I know, that’s not what I meant. I just… don’t do much reading by contemporary trolls,” Karkat worried his lower lip with his fangs and kept searching. “She’s written dozens of articles about methods for determining infirmity. I have to bookmark these, she’s absolutely decimating the Compasse’s definitions of cullable disabilities! She lays bare every logical fallacy…”  
  
“Any of them got something that can help out Sundance?”  
  
“None yet… I’ll have to base my argument around the original case.”  
  
“What was the thing they up and decided?”  
  
“She successfully argued that a seadweller should not cull an hydrophobic cerulean in an amphibious hive. Holy fuckballs, they had to spend  _two sweeps_ arguing that those conditions were cruel and unusual?! Who the fuck even thought it was a good idea to match those two?! Is culling services so low on goddamn common sense that they rationed it all out to their lusii so they’d know to haul their sorry asses out of the excrement quagmire they’ve soiled themselves to create and remind them to eat? Mother Grub knows these morons don’t have the common sense to do that themselves!”  
  
He slandered the magistrates who argued against Lawscale’s obviously correct judgment for another few minutes, then returned to business: analyzing the case for applicability to Sundance’s situation. The case sent him through a maze of other research, from referenced cases to psychological diagnoses, but within a sleepless week Karkat compiled his whole case.  
  
“Now, who are you gonna fling all that motherfucking vigilance on?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Who else? The Compasse.”  
  
“…Most wicked motherfucking luck to you, little bro.”  
  
A few nights later, the Compasse and Karkat found time to meet. She greeted him with a warm smile and invitation to embrace, but Karkat stayed back.  
  
“Excuse me, your Radiance,” Karkat said. “Under the provisions of the fourteenth stature of the Third Judicial Act of the present Age of Compassion, I request the immediate opening of a case… for… oh, for investigating a troll’s fitness for imperial duty!”  
  
The Compasse stared at Karkat, but soon regained her smile. “Then proceed, Vigilant! Please name the troll in question.”  
  
“I submit that Mistress Sundance is unfit for duties in the breeding caverns.”  
  
She shook her head. “Karkat, Sundance and I have—”  
  
“ _Your Radiance_ , I submit that Mistress Sundance is unfit for her duties, on the grounds of unaddressed and life-threatening nyctophobia,” Kakrat interrupted her. “I have compiled evidence for your consideration.”  
  
Karkat went on to describe the condition of severe fear of the dark, compared it with Sundance’s behavior and testimony, and then presented his conversation with her as evidence that the condition would threaten her life if she returned to the caverns. Therefore, he concluded that Sundance had earned exemption from her duties on the grounds of psychological disability. He missed a few words here and there, but all in all Karkat’s performance likely would have passed in a real courtblock.  
  
The Compasse applauded. “Very good, Karkat! You sound just like a real Vigilant!”  
  
“So you’ll excuse Sundance from the caverns?” he asked.  
  
“No, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”  
  
“But I just told you why she needs it! The case is airtight!”  
  
“You’re only doing this because Sundance is an important friend of yours. Your case is biased,” she said, then added with a giggle, “And  _really_  adorable.”  
  
“For  _once_  in my pathetically mutated life can you take me seriously?! I’m trying to tell you Sundance will die if she goes back!”  
  
“Believe me, I’m just as sorry as you are to see her go. It’s been a delight to have her at the palace. But I see hundreds of these petitions every sweep. From jades, their friends, their quadrantmates… Many appear to have conditions more dire than Sundance’s, and all of them return to the caves and survive to leave again. Even the ones who can’t fulfill their duties do better being culled by their caste than anyone else.”  
  
“You aren’t. Paying. ATTENTION! Sundance won’t survive going back, she said so! Why don’t you believe the shit that people tell you!?”  
  
“I did pay attention! Your presentation was very thorough and professional.”  
  
“Then you have to let Sundance go! You can’t look at a well-reasoned case and just ignore it!”  
  
“I’m not ignoring it. I’m deciding.”  
  
“Your decision is shit! Decide something else!”  
  
The Compasse stood and straightened to her full height. The doting culler vanished and in her place stood an impressive Queen.  
  
“If you will only be satisfied with a formal response, I present it now. Her Radiant Compassion decrees that the case will be resolved thus; Mistress Sundance will return to the caverns and resume her duties according to the schedule put forth in the Treaty of the Mother! The courtblock is dismissed!”  
  
She clapped her hands three times, like the fall of a gavel. Silence rang after as Karkat stared at her, small ruby drops gathering at the corner of his eyes. As suddenly as she had appeared, the Empress vanished, and the culler knelt to his level.  
  
“Oh, Karkat, I didn’t mean to upset you! I’m so—”  
  
Karkat slapped her worried hand away. “Take your compassion, shape it into a bulge, and stuff it in your nook! You’re an expert in getting off on coddling others, so it should be second nature for you!”  
  
Their time together ended early, as Karkat terminated the conversation. The Compasse bid farewell to them and shot Gamzee a sympathetic look: _Another tantrum._  Gamzee wondered what was so different about a Vigilant’s justice and Karkat’s tantrum.

 

* * *

  
Karkat kept trying, bless his blood-pusher. He rehashed relevant parts of his argument and gathered more evidence whenever he could. He refused to talk about anything else with the Compasse. He still danced at his lessons with Sundance, but confided to Gamzee that it was mostly for her benefit, to help support his conviction that he  _would_  convince the Compasse and their lessons  _will_  continue normally. He refused to say goodbye.  
  
Gamzee took a more realistic approach and passed Sundance his hollowed-out book of forged documents. “Y’know, for some motherfucking daytime reading. It’s a page-turner.”  
  
Sundance accepted the book and tried not to look at it too closely. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to read it.”  
  
The perigees dwindled to weeks. If Sundance was really going to run, she’d vanish three days before her scheduled departure, so it would be harder for the authorities to track her down. With a few hours of sunrunning she’d reach a train station that would take her further inland, far from population centers. If she could fade into the trees for a sweep or so, she’d be safe to come back as a new troll.  
  
The night before Sundance’s flight, she passed Gamzee’s book back to him. “Just like you said. A page-turner.” When Gamzee opened the book, he found a letter with Karkat’s name written on the outside. Perhaps explaining herself, apologizing, Gamzee didn’t care and he’d probably never know. He closed the book and set it aside as she went through the motions of a lesson.   
  
Then Karkat and Gamzee arrived for their next scheduled lesson to find no teacher. Karkat wondered aloud if she was running late—which had never happened in the sweeps since they met—then decided to do his stretches so they could start immediately when she arrived. Sundance’s absence continued, so Karkat finally quit.  
  
“Let’s go. I was in the middle of Lawscale’s article on hemoequalized egalitarianism.”  
  
“Oh. Is that important?”  
  
“Yes! It could help me crack the Compasse’s obstinate bulgesucking self-righteousness.”  
  
So Gamzee followed Karkat back to his block, where he continued taking diligent notes on the noble Vigilant’s writings. Gamzee brought him water and grubscits to fuel his studious fury, and flitted about the room taking care of little chores Karkat had been too busy to handle himself; putting clothes in the laundering chute, straightening his books, shoving his cushions and old plushies into a neater pile.  
  
Then someone knocked on the door.  
  
“What is it?!” Karkat snapped at the visitor.  
  
“It’s me,” the Compasse’s voice answered. “May I speak with you, Karkat?”  
  
“I don’t know, are you going to remove the double trident from your waste chute and give my arguments a fair consideration?”  
  
“Please, Karkat. There’s something I need to tell you about Sundance.”  
  
Karkat paused mid-pen-scratch, and glared suspiciously at the door. “Come in.”  
  
The Compasse opened the door, but did not step inside. She held her hands clasped together near her abdomen.  
  
“Mirthful, there’s a courier in the entrance hall with a letter. She refuses to place it in any hands but yours. Would you mind attending to that while I speak with Karkat?”  
  
Gamzee nodded. “Sure thing, my fishy sister.”  
  
He found a spry and fidgety goldblood in the main entrance, holding a parchment letter tightly. When she saw Gamzee approach, she offered a salute.  
  
“A letter from my lady, the Marquise Prospera!” she said, placing the letter in Gamzee’s hands like it was made of solid gold.  
  
“Wicked motherfucking thanks, my sister,” Gamzee said.  
  
“I have been instructed to say that the contents of his letter should be read in private, and that she wishes you a pleasant night!”  
  
He dismissed the messenger before she blew a blood vessel with anxious manners and decided that the letter was too important to wait. He found the closest unoccupied room, stepped inside, and popped open the wax seal.  
  
Dearest Mirthful,  
  
I pray that this note finds you in fine health and finer spirits. I am writing to inform you that, 8y the time you read this letter, Mistress Sundance will have resumed her st8on in the 8rooding caverns. The Vigilants have apprehended her following a fortuitous tip-off regarding an a8sconding deserter, and her sisters ju8il8 at her safe return.  
  
This is not in accordance with our agreement. I understand, and I must offer my condolences. When we made our arrangement, I did not realize that we had conflicting goals. It just so happens that Mistress Sundance's mentor, the 8enevole, is scheduled to 8egin her decade on the surface once Sundance returns to the caverns. 8y another coincidence, the 8enevole is my m8sprit who I have not seen for a hundred sweeps. When presented with those two conditions—see my flushed moonbeam for the first time in a century, or help a stranger and gain an unspecified favor—I chose the former. I think any other troll would do the same in my situation.   
  
I apologize for not informing you of this 8ad 8r8k, 8ut I don't regret it. This system of culling is merely an ela8or8 game of chess 8etween her Radiance and all trolls with 8lood warmer than her luxurious fuchsia: prove you can handle power, or you will lose your right to it. Trolls who have o8viously lost control over their half of the chess match still seek victory, so they come to me to play roulette. You placed your 8et, and you have lost. In the future, might I suggest a more thorough investig8on into the allegiances of those you presume to 8e your allies?  
  
Nevertheless, this situation has 8rought you two very envia8le 8enefits. First, I understand that your service to Mistress Sundance was on account of her possessing compromising personal information a8out you. In her current loc8on, she cannot spread any deplora8le slander, and in fact has no idea that her capture was a result of your ina8ility to account for all the varia8les. As far as she knows, she just suffered a 8ad 8r8k of her own. I have all of her evidence stowed in my personal vault, away from prying eyes. Your good name is safe, no8le minstrelister.  
  
Second, I recognize I failed to meet certain expectations, so you are not lia8le to any further payment. In fact, I feel some stirrings of pity for your unfortun8 situation. Consider the contract we negotiated reversed: I shall now be in your de8t 8fold. If you ever find yourself in need of another roulette spin, call upon me. You'll find the odds more significantly in your favor when that time comes.  
  
We will likely see each other at the redblood’s next wriggling day cele8ration. I look forward to that meeting, and promise to hold no grudge against you.  
  
Your most hum8le servant,  
  
Marquise Roulette Prospera


	16. Wishes and Wickedness

Gamzee could have sworn he was holding a letter, but after a flash of white across his vision he found only strips of confetti in his hands. Had there even been a letter? Maybe he imagined it. That sure would have been a hilarious joke if he had imagined the Marquise writing him such a traitorous letter!  
  
But he didn’t imagine it. She actually betrayed him. Betrayed  _him!_  Took his money and faith and stabbed him in the back! Because of her, everything was wrong!  _She’s asking for it, JUST ASKING TO BE MY MOTHERFUCKING PAINT, asking for me to run to her hive AND BASH HER MOTHERFUCKING SKULL IN and then use her hair as a paintbrush AS I SMEAR CERULEAN ACROSS HER WALLS—_  
  
In the grip of these manic throes, Gamzee’s pan was more chucklevoodoos than thought. Fantasized violence ran through his head and leeched pure fear into the space around him. He only became aware of another troll entering the room when he felt the servant’s panicked consciousness respond to his unbridled rage. He was right to be afraid.  
  
“What do you want?” Gamzee turned his way and snarled. “WHAT DO YOU MOTHERFUCKING WANT?!”  
  
The servant stammered and pointed over his shoulder. “The—The Compasse—she… s-she…”  
  
“The Compasse? WHAT ABOUT THE MOTHERFUCKING COMPASSE, MOTHERFUCKER?!” he advanced, backing the troll against a wall. “What does she want with me?”  
  
“It’s orders! I’m just here with orders, please—”  
  
“TELL ME HER MOTHERFUCKING ORDERS, MOTHERFUCKER!” Gamzee punched the wall between the troll’s horns, an inch above his face. “ _Tell me right now._ ”  
  
“She just—said—you had to go back, back to… to the mutant! To his block!” The troll sobbed, green running down his face. “You should be there, just don’t hurt me, please don’t, oh God please—”  
  
The mutant…  
  
Karkat?  
  
Oh fuck,  _Karkat!_  
  
That must have been why the Compasse wanted to speak with him. She had to break the news of Sundance’s capture. Karkat learned that Sundance was planning to escape and that she failed almost in the same breath. All the anger Gamzee was feeling, Karkat had to be feeling ten times worse. Karkat verbally slaughtered strangers for lesser offenses. Memories of Karkat’s anger over his pre-selected title and the destruction he carved through his room bloomed in Gamzee’s head. He had worked for perigees to try and save Sundance, and unlike back then, he had a stronger body and command of weapons. His reaction to Sundance’s capture might level the amphibortress.  
  
Gamzee took a step back, inhaled deeply, and rolled his shoulders. The worst of his rage blew away with his exhale. He’d put it on the back burner… save it for the Marquise.  
  
“Was that so hard, bro?” he asked the servant, his voice settling back into a more stable range.  
  
The servant slid down the wall, shaking and still sniffling. It’d probably take him an hour or so for him to regain use of his legs and reliable control of his bladder. Oh well. Gamzee had a cullee to worry about.  
  


* * *

  
He found the block dark when he arrived, and to his surprise, no raging Karkat. For a second he thought maybe the room was empty, but he noticed a small change: outgrown plushies, discarded clothes, heavy books and well-worn notes had been gathered in the center of the room. The pile looked roughly troll-sized, at least if the troll was small as Karkat. He hesitated at the door, staring at the pile. He had expected rage, not…  _this_.  
  
“Little bro?” Gamzee said. His voice nearly echoed.  
  
The pile shivered, and Gamzee heard a small, pained squeak. He shut the door, stepped inside, and crossed to the foot of the pile.  
  
“Best friend, come on out of there for a second.”  
  
The pile’s peak dipped. The squeak from before happened again, this time with a sob.  
  
“I’m sorry you found out like this, little bro… I’m so sorry. Let me say it to your face, please?”  
  
A hiccup in the pile. The sob was louder.  
  
“Please, I don’t wanna have to dig you out just to see if you’re okay.” Extracting Karkat would only make this storm worse; no doubt he had built the comforting heap of familiar objects in an attempt to self-pacify. Gamzee could remember doing the same thing when he was around Karkat’s age. “I just need to see your face, best friend. Just see you’re okay. Then I’ll do whatever the fuck you need, I’ll leave or stay, or get you something sugary, anything you motherfucking want.”  
  
Karkat sniffed and the pile rustled, toys and tomes tumbling off the top until his nubs breached. His eyes were raw and puffy, his tears already exhausted, but Gamzee saw welts on his cheeks following the path of tears. Karkat noticed Gamzee staring at them, and covered his cheeks with his hands, which only showed more red lines matching the spread of his claws.  
  
“Little bro, what the motherfuck happened?!”  
  
“Who the fuck cares?” Karkat rasped, his voice out of shout.  
  
“I do! Did you do this wicked mess to your motherfucking self?”  
  
“None of your business, you pan-numb clown. Pain and pleasure are the same thing given different names,  _right_?”  
  
Karkat tried to recoil deeper into the pile, but Gamzee hooked his fingers around Karkat’s wrist. Still so small, still so young,  _six is no better than five, no better than four, no better than three…_  but he couldn’t stop himself. He tugged Karkat’s hand away from his face and slipped his other hand in the gap. His fingers reached far past his ear, almost to the back of his head, and he pressed his palm against Karkat’s cheek with light paps.  
  
“Shhhh,” Gamzee whispered. “Shhhhhhh, little bro…”  
  
Karkat froze for an instant, shocked, but he quickly made up his mind and leaned toward Gamzee’s touch. He reached forward and gripped Gamzee’s clothes, anchoring himself to his culler’s form as he started to dryly sob again. Gamzee just papped a little more firmly and continued shooshing him. It was fine if he just did this to pacify Karkat, right? No one would leave a wiggler to suffer that much emotional distress on his own! Culler, lusus, moirail, the label didn’t matter so long as Gamzee ended the storm. If he helped, it didn’t matter…  
  
In no time at all, Karkat reciprocated. Romance stories had shown him the motions, and under Gamzee’s placid pats he unfurled. His fingers brushed Gamzee’s cheek, a matching gesture that coaxed him to wrap an arm around Karkat’s back, pap him firmer, and shoosh with a deeper rumble. Even lacking the energy to scream or cry, his wound still hurt. He tried to communicate how badly, but Gamzee only heard half-formed words and noises. He responded in kind, aiming for words like “I got you” and “it’s okay” and “you’re safe” but not caring too hard if his throat and lips didn’t cooperate. Karkat would understand the important parts.  
  
Despite being so much smaller, weaker, and more distressed, before Gamzee realized what was happening, Karkat had drawn him into the center of his pile. They roughly kicked items around to let him nestle deeper as Karkat settled on Gamzee’s lap. Gamzee leaned his face close to Karkat, and their foreheads touched. Like a little miracle, Gamzee swore he could feel Karkat’s brain humming away the same way he felt his blood pusher hammer in his chest. His mutant warrior, his ornery intellectual, his little motherfucker.   
  
“Pale for you,” Gamzee mumbled. He couldn’t have expected that to stay secret for much longer. A troll in a pile—especially in a jam as intense as this—was like a window: completely transparent and easy to break. But, Gamzee hadn’t tried to enunciate, and Karkat probably wasn’t listening to the words yet, ‘hearing’ Gamzee with his skin, his eyes, and his nose instead of his ears. “Pale for sweeps… and for sweeps to come…”  
  
Soon, the paps lost effectiveness. Karkat fell silent again, and with a satisfied hum, hugged Gamzee as tight as he could. Gamzee hugged back and stopped talking himself, letting Karkat feel his presence and, at his leisure, drift out of the emotional void and back into his pan.  
  
Meanwhile, Gamzee returned to his.  _I just shoosh-papped a wiggler. Motherfucking Messiahs, there’s no coming back from this._  His earlier justifications rang hollow in his head. What was he thinking?! He  _knew_  he felt pale for Karkat, but he couldn’t use Karkat’s distress to justify his perversions! He probably would have been fine after a day or two of sulking, but no, Gamzee had to  _pile_  him, selfish and deranged. He shuddered and swallowed back his disgust. Motherfuck, if Karkat noticed his revulsion and tried to pap him back then he would probably die instantly of shame and shock.  
  
By some blessed good luck, Karkat didn’t notice. He just leaned his cheek against Gamzee’s chest and said, “Mirthful?”  
  
“Right here, bro.”  
  
“Is my tutor the same as Sundance?”  
  
“Same as Sundance how?”  
  
“Do they put up with me because they want something from the Compasse? Are they just using me too?”  
  
“I couldn’t say. I never talked to the motherfucker about it.” Fuck if Gamzee even knew the tutor’s name, let alone their motivations for putting up with an enraged epistemophile like Karkat.  
  
“It’s probably the same. They just want a cushy salary and some culling immunity. That’s probably what the Compasse offered them.”  
  
“That’s a lot of wicked speculation, little bro.”  
  
“I’ve always suspected it. I just never put it all together… until now,” Karkat said. “Everyone around me has to be bribed, coerced, or persuaded to act like they give half of a musclebeast’s infected testicle about me. I never noticed it when I was young, but the older I get the more I see how people just want things… if not from me, then from someone who uses me as a metric for how deserving others are.”  
  
“Is it wrong for motherfuckers to want things?”  
  
Karkat chewed the question over for a second. “No, it’s not.”  
  
“You think they lie about what they motherfucking want, don’t you?”  _Like the Marquise…_  
  
“I know  _why_  they do it. It’d come across as rude to just announce what you want to the world, and they’d be ostracized forever for it. But it’s still a rusty knife twisted in my gall sphincter to think about.”  
  
“Think about what?”  
  
Karkat’s hands gripped a little tighter. “How many people around me just see me for the gain I represent.”  
  
Oh fuck. Oh, motherfucking fuck, Karkat was talking about feelings in a pile. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Gamzee had shoosh-papped him into pacification! But as much as Gamzee internally howled at himself to move, count to  _three_  and get up, leave before he said or heard something he’d regret… he couldn’t. He couldn’t dislodge Karkat, and he couldn’t stop the conversation.  
  
“Is this why you like your internet friends so much?”  
  
“Not really. Or… maybe? They all want things too, but it’s not as political. No one knows my blood color, so no one tries to coddle me or ask that I coddle them. Everything they want is so… ordinary. Not steeped in the oh-so-prestigious piss-slurry of the amphibiortress.”  
  
“Do you still like politics?”  
  
Karkat puzzled this question for a minute. “…I hate it, but I like it. It’s absolutely despicable and probably destroying Beforus from the inside out… but I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life. I feel like I was hatched to be a leader of trolls. Someone who unites people and accomplishes great things, you know?”  
  
“Maybe you can be a Governor.”  
  
“Hm. That’s on the right track, but not quite right,” Karkat explained. “There’s some other subtleties I haven’t identified yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”  
  
“You got it, little bro.”  
  
His young arms loosened a little, but Karkat made no attempt to move from Gamzee’s lap. He just settled into a more relaxed embrace, a cuddle built on trust rather than the physical desire to never let go.  
  
“I was scared, earlier,” he admitted.  
  
“Scared of what?”  
  
“That you were like Sundance, too.”  
  
Gamzee paused. “What do you know about that noise?”  
  
“I remember hearing rumors about it when I was little… Then Mileko confirmed it. You’re here to earn culling immunity. There was a treaty about it sweeps ago.”  
  
Gamzee sighed, and curled a little closer to Karkat. “It’s not like that anymore, little bro.”  
  
“But you’re still going to earn immunity after I die.”  
  
“Don’t talk like that.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“I don’t want to talk about… the end,” Gamzee said.  
  
“But isn’t that why you accepted the treaty? Just spend a few sweeps with me and then get on with your life without any sort of pathetic warmbloods clinging to you?”  
  
“I mean, I had never been a culler before, and I didn’t know what to expect. And I thought I’d just take a break from the pious noise and maybe give the fishy sister a little hell on behalf of the Grand Highblood.” The confessions tumbled out easily. He couldn’t stop them now. “And then I met you and… the whole motherfucking plan shifted.”  
  
“Shifted?”  
  
Gamzee laughed, nervous, and struggling to redirect his feelings into some other truth—something that wouldn’t violate the sanctity of the jam, but would still leave him a little dignity, a little secrecy. He ran his fingers through Karkat’s hair and leaned close, hiding his face but keeping his words clear.  
  
“If the treaty was the other way around, and I had to cull you until the end of  _my_  span… I’d still take it. I’d take it and praise the Messiahs for the chance to spend so many sweeps by your side.”  
  
Karkat managed to laugh too, and he reached up to bop Gamzee on the side of his head. The blow glanced harmlessly, and they smiled.  
  
“I’ve seen hundreds of romance films clocking in at thousands of hours, and I have  _never_  heard anything as soul-wrenchingly sappy as that.”  
  
“I just gotta be going with what feels right, y’know?”  
  
“I know,” Karkat agreed. “It just feels nice to hear you say it.”  
  
A comfortable and quiet silence grew between them, and they passed time just sitting together. Gamzee tried to find it in him to leave, make up an excuse and get out of here before he fell too deep… But as he kept failing to leave, he realized that the point of no return had probably been passed hours ago.  
  
“…Oh! Little bro, there’s… there’s something I need to give you,” Gamzee remembered.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Before she left… Sundance passed me a letter for you. I’ll go and get it—” Gamzee moved to lift Karkat away, but he just grabbed a fistful of Gamzee’s shirt, and he stopped.  
  
“Later,” Karkat said. “I don’t want to read what she has to say yet… and I don’t want you to leave.”  
  
Foiled. Why did he have to feel so happy that Karkat asked him to stay? “Okay, best friend. What  _do_  you want?”  
  
“…I think I want to sleep here. It’s been… hard, today.”  
  
“But your ‘coon…”  
  
“Fuck the recuperacoon, fuck the sopor. I don’t want to be sedated. I just want to sleep.” Karkat managed a sly, sarcastic smile. “And aren’t you the one always fussing over how much sleep I get? Surely you’d prefer me to spend as much time unconscious as possible.”  
  
Gamzee snorted. “I just feel that if you got enough time in the sopor, you wouldn’t be so motherfucking angry all the time.”  
  
“Maybe I like being angry.”  
  
“Bullshit.”  
  
“…Maybe I feel less pathetic and helpless when I’m angry.”  
  
“That’s more like it.” Gamzee ruffled his hair one last time and settled as far as possible back into the pile. Karkat slept so infrequently that he really couldn’t pass up this chance to encourage him into rest. Gamzee slept a little, and all he could remember dreaming about was excommunication: fellow minstrelisters who had looked to him for guidance turning on him and tearing him apart. He also remembered hugging something through his own nightmares and taking comfort from it, something that could only have been Karkat.


	17. Turn to Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay. In the span between now and the last update I got a job, graduated college, wrote a graduation speech for my old high school, and saw Mad Max: Fury Road. Also this was just a pretty hard chapter to write. But I’m glad it’s finally out since there’s plenty of other stuff I want to get to later, and now I can DO IT. I resume your regularly unscheduled updates.

Gamzee woke in the middle of the melting pile with a crick in his neck, pins and needles in one arm, Karkat nestled against his chest, and a persistent vibration nudging his side. He wriggled away as gently as possible to retrieve the buzzing thing—his palmhusk—and see what was the matter.  
  
The Compasse was calling.  
  
He nearly honked in shock, clumsily rolling out of the pile as if the Compasse had already seen him and Karkat cuddled together. If she found out what Gamzee had just motherfucking  _done_ , merciful Messiahs, his span would be over! But he couldn’t leave the phone ringing forever, she expected him to answer! So Gamzee shoved the pile back together to hopefully keep Karkat asleep, then finally answered the Empress.  
  
“Good wicked evening, fishy sister,” he announced, normal as he could muster.  
  
“Mirthful! Thank goodness, I have five minutes. How is Karkat?”  
  
“He’s good. Sleeping like a motherfucking pupa nestled up in a cocoon of miracles.”  
  
“How long has he been asleep?”  
  
“I haven’t seen a clock recently… how long since you last saw him?”  
  
“Little less than a day.”  
  
“Then maybe half that. I didn’t check the time when we got our loss of consciousness on.”  
  
“We?”  
  
“Oh! The—The little motherfucker fell asleep and I was so tired myself, y’know…” Gamzee fumbled and forced a laugh. “This whole culling noise takes it right out of me sometimes, haha…”  
  
“I’m terribly sorry, did I wake you?”  
  
“Don’t worry over it. Wasn’t too hard dealing with him, it was…”  _Intimate. Cathartic. Warm. Pale._  “…Nothing to write to your lusus about.”  
  
Mollified, the Compasse described her restricted availability and instructed Gamzee to catch Karkat up to his usual schedule when he felt ready for it, and otherwise continue as usual. Then, they hung up, and Gamzee sighed one more time. He was safe.  
  
He looked back at Karkat. When was the last time he saw the little motherfucker sleep? Even in the gloom, he could see Karkat’s hair fanned around his face, the gentle rise and fall of his breath, the splay of his limbs. His had a body like sapling wood, strong and slim. For not the first time, Gamzee wanted to kiss him.  
  
Three, four, five, six. Nothing had changed in the four sweeps since Gamzee recognized his feelings for Karkat had a romantic root.  _He’s too young. Too motherfucking young. Too motherfucking different._  Once Karkat grew up and was titled like a proper troll, he’d still be ten to Gamzee’s hundred and twelve. A proportional gap that large would raise eyebrows and draw frowns. One-twelve and two-twelve, sure, but one-twelve and  _ten_ , he could never.  
  
He and Karkat could  _never_. And as the older, stronger, and (hopefully) wiser troll, it might be up to Gamzee to enforce that.  
  
He stood, a sequence of cracks rippling down his vertebrae when he stretched. He couldn’t stay near the pile. He darted out for a minute to retrieve his Testament, then took a chair across the room from the heap. It’d make a bad situation worse if Gamzee left Karkat to wake up alone, but he had to distance himself. Read his scripture. Focus on the words, not the still-fresh memory of Karkat in his arms.  _You motherfucking monster, Gamzee Makara…_  
  
Eventually, Karkat stirred. He groaned. He rolled onto his stomach and slowly blinked his eyes open.  
  
“Evening, little bro,” Gamzee greeted, so Karkat wouldn’t spend too long wondering where he was.  
  
Karkat curled up again and moaned. “Sweet globe-fondling fuck… I feel like I got trampled by a hoofbeast stampede.”  
  
“Think you’ll want the sopor tonight?”  
  
“I think I’ll want someone to remove my skeleton from my body and then flog me with my own bones. That’ll—rrrngh—hurt less than  _this_.”  
  
Gamzee smiled. “So if I got my understand on, you’re skipping training?”  
  
“Ugh, why don’t you tell me? Aren’t you the least bit sore?” he grumbled, “Why can’t I have more comfortable interests? I’m such a moron…”  
  
“I’ve had some time to stretch out my motherfucking bones.”  
  
“So you’re saying I should at least do the stretches.”  
  
“I’m not saying a motherfucking thing. Do whatever you got your feel on to do.”  
  
He flung his hands in the air. “Fine! I’m doing the stretches! Look how decisive and independent I’m being, making choices that are good for me! Are you happy, you whimsical heap of disembodied genitals?”  
  
Gamzee just smiled wider. “I’m always happy, motherfucker.”  
  
Karkat stumbled away from the pile while Gamzee dog-eared his book and stood. They had been doing these stretches together for two sweeps now. He could remember so clearly when Karkat first demanded his help in learning these skills. Gamzee thought Karkat was casting him aside, but that wasn’t true. Karkat didn’t want a protector; he wanted a teacher. Someone to give him a scaffold instead of a cage, to help him grow.  
  
Gamzee wouldn’t allow himself to get in the way of that growth. But it was hard, because during the stretches, he started to hear Karkat’s fears again.  
  
 _Should I…_  
  
That was all he heard at first: a small ‘should I’ that trailed off into vague noise. Karkat wanted to do something but didn’t know what, and the indecision made him anxious and thus put his pan on Gamzee’s psychic radar. The thoughts grew louder the harder he tried to ignore it.  
  
 _Should I say something?_  Karkat worried in his head.  _Why hasn’t he said anything?_  
  
Anything about… yesterday. Karkat had to be thinking about yesterday, about the pile and the jam. Fuck, oh motherfucking fuck, didn’t Karkat know that topic was closed?!  
  
 _Should I bring it up? Should I ask what we are now?_  
  
Gamzee wanted to interrupt. He’d just answer Karkat’s thoughts directly, correctly: “We’re not anything, and we never will be, because we can’t.” And that would be it.  
  
 _Does he pity me? Is it just pity, or is it pity-pity?_  
  
Did Karkat hear him yesterday? Did he hear the  _words_ , when Gamzee declared himself pale for Karkat?! How could Gamzee answer Karkat without either confirming that he was a rotten grub-piler, or wrecking the sacred trust of honest jams?!  
  
 _Should I ask if he pities me?_  
  
No.  
  
 _Do I pity him?_  
  
Fuck no.  
  
 _…Are we moirails?_  
  
Hell fucking NO!  
  
Mid-stretch, Gamzee stood straight. “Wait a minute, motherfucker. What time is it?”  
  
“Why does the time matter?” Karkat stretched his arms behind him.  
  
“What if you’re late to tutoring?”  
  
“Fuck tutoring. I already know more than that miserable educator could hope to teach me.”  
  
“That’s some blasphemous wrongness, I know you learn at least something every time.”  
  
“Yes, but it’s all completely fucking useless!”  
  
Gamzee walked away and checked the time anyway. They were still in the first half of the evening, an hour or so late to lessons, but hopefully the tutor would still be there. And even if they weren’t, the search for them could at least distract Karkat… or so Gamzee hoped.  
  
“Yeah, the lesson is halfway over. But you gotta try to get something out of it!”  
  
“But why do we have to go right now?”  
  
“C’mon, life doesn’t stop because you figured out a motherfucker weren’t as loyal as they motherfucking said they were. You gotta keep living, little bro.”  
  
Karkat fell silent. His anxious thoughts receded.  
  
“Hey, if Tutor’s gone, then you’re unsupervised. You can get new books if you like and not a single motherfucker’s gonna bother you. And then there’s probably been a whole slew of trolls all across Beforus spewing all kinds of hemoist blasphemies on the internet…”   
  
Karkat pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you win. But for someone who told me to just do whatever I feel like doing, you’ve found heaps of manure to pile onto my nutrition plateau.”  
  
“Well you can do whatever you all up and wanna do, but there’s a lot  _to_  do.”  
  
“And if I want to do nothing?”  
  
Gamzee’s throat tightened, but he forced the words out. “Then I got no reason about being here.”  
  
Karkat contemplated this ultimatum for three seconds, then turned to the pile, picked a book out, and shoved it into Gamzee’s hands. “Here. Since you’re so adamant about me doing something with this miserable night, carry these.”  
  
“What are we doing with them?” Gamzee said as Karkat started flinging more books back his way.  
  
“Returning them. Turns out that all the research I’ve been compiling for the past few weeks is so utterly ahead of its time that it’s totally pointless to keep it around my block. It’s roughly equivalent to troughs of steaming maggots in terms of how useful it is. I might as well put it back.”  
  
Gamzee cupped his hands as the pile of tomes Karkat placed there grew taller and taller. “I thought you really liked reading Lawscale’s shit.”  
  
He hesitated, but declared, “Fuck Lawscale. She knows everything except how to convince people she’s right.”  
  
Aw, that stung. Gamzee had never even met the bitch but Karkat turning his back on his absolute favorite scholar felt like… betrayal. And Gamzee knew what that felt like now.  
  
“Well, you’ll know where to find it if you want it again.”  
  
“Just carry the fucking books.”  
  
So Gamzee just carried the fucking books. Karkat knew where they all belonged and put them away without any help from the bemused library staff. As far as they knew, the Empress’s cullee had never been in the library before. But, the way Karkat scowled at them gave Gamzee the feeling that none of them would report this to the Compasse.  
  
When he was done re-shelving, Karkat led the way back to his respiteblock, where he booted up his husktop and poked around the internet. But, in about ten minutes, he closed the computer and lay back on the floor.  
  
“You lied about there being shit to do,” Karkat said.  
  
“You could read something. Watch something. Write something.”  
  
“I don’t want to.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“…I just don’t.”  
  
Gamzee had seen Karkat tired before. He had seen him sad, fearful, paralyzed, and quiet. But he had never seen Karkat look like this: grey as his words online and lifeless as a burned-out coal. The harshwhimsy from mere hours earlier was already gone.  
  
Maybe this was just a bad day. Maybe Karkat would be alright tomorrow.  
  


* * *

  
He was wrong. Karkat’s empty, ashy mood persisted. The most he could do was inform the Compasse about his loss of passion following Sundance’s arrest. He needed something, anything, to help him feel like living again. She organized a squadron of instructors for this purpose: painting, music, computer programming, advanced maths, a grub-ball trainer, on and on and on. Help him find a new passion, and barring that, keep him busy.  
  
In each subject, Karkat quietly rebelled. The painting teacher quit immediately when Karkat drew a pair of hands performing a rude gesture when instructed to draw a flower. But most of the teachers persisted, and Gamzee had to say he never expected to see the little dude  _passively_  aggress. Karkat could be sarcastic, but he never hid his feelings. Watching him undermine his teachers with a blank face felt all kinds of unnatural to Gamzee, like skyhorses in the water.  
  
Over the weeks, the only time Gamzee could recall Karkat barely enjoying a lesson was during a holiday when he was out of the palace anyway, honoring the wicked holy shit. When he returned, Karkat had a thick tome full of pictograms laid open on a table.  
  
 _A sign registry._  Gamzee realized. Aloud, he announced, “I’m back.”  
  
“Hey,” Karkat grunted.  
  
“Is that a book of signs?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Learn anything interesting about them?”  
  
Karkat flipped a few pages idly. “Sort of. Signs are derived from an ancient symbolic language, before Standard Beforan. The cooler your blood, the more likely your sign will mean something conceptual, like ‘honor’ or ‘bravery.’ The warmblood signs are mostly objects, like ‘tree’ or ‘bird.’”  
  
“Huh,” Gamzee said. “I never knew about that part of it. I only know what my sign means. ‘Lord of servants,’ the best motherfucking description of a Grand Highblood you can get.”  
  
“That’s wrong.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Karkat turned chunks of pages more rapidly. “There was a sigil for ‘Lord-Servant,’ but that a really old character that was barely ever used, so it’s the root for other symbols. ‘Lord of servants’ looks like this.”  
  
He arrived at his desired page, and showed it to Gamzee. The depicted sign looked  _close_  to his, but the loop pointed up, close to the tops of the slanty lines, rather than curling right. As far as linguistic peculiarities, it looked like it could be the brother of Gamzee’s sign. But he had never realized there was another sigil in the same family.  
  
"So then, what does my sign actually mean?”  
  
“It’s the other way around. Yours is ‘servant of the lord.’”  
  
Well, that, correction didn’t seem like any monumental upset. “Isn’t it plural? Servant of the  _lords_?”  
  
“No, there’s a special notch for plurals. Yours doesn’t have it.”  
  
“I mean, whether I’m lord of servants or slave of servants, I still got my service on to the Mirthful Messiahs, so my only question is why my sign doesn’t got the plural in it.”  
  
“Maybe because you’re supposed to serve only one lord?” Karkat flipped around the book again. “It’s not really that big of a deal. You can keep saying it wrong if you want. That’s how language evolves, after all. Just thought you’d want to know, ‘servant of the lord’ is right.”  
  
“Well, enough about my sign. It’s got its own miraculous meaning whether I know it or not. Do you wanna pick one of those signs for yourself?”  
  
He shrugged. “No. Any sign I would take, no matter its original meaning, would in practice just mean ‘mutant.’ Then any troll to have it after me would just wear the sign of the mutant. There’s just no reason for me to have one.”  
  
“So you’ll just be signless?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Wanna use that as a title, when you grow up?”  
  
“Whatever.” Karkat closed the book and slid it away. “It’s not like this even matters. Since you’re here, I’m probably late to programming, aren’t I?”  
  
“…Yeah, technically.”  
  
“Do I have to go?”  
  
Gamzee squared his jaw. “Yes. You do.”  
  
Karkat stood from the chair. His hair was longer and snarlier than he ever let it grow before. Even though he got more than enough sleep these days, his eyes still had dark shadows beneath them. His shoulders slumped, his back hunched, his feet dragged. He looked dead, like a walking corpse.  
  
And Gamzee couldn’t stay silent.  
  
“Little bro.”  
  
“What.”  
  
“I know a bunch of wicked wrongness got slung your way, but I got just one question for you.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Why are you spending your life pretending to be dead?”  
  
Karkat didn’t say anything. Then he shrugged. “Because it’s not worth pretending to be anything else.”  
  
All through Karkat’s programming lesson, Gamzee struggled to smile, though he wanted nothing more than to cry. Karkat was dying of apathy and he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even imagine that a feelings jam would do any good, Messiahs forbid that he ever touch Karkat like that again.  
  
The ashes continued on, all the way up to the Dimmest Day. Gamzee enticed Karkat as hard as he could with promises of festivities, food, games, an all-day movie marathon, to little response. But none of those promises mattered in the end.  
  
On the Dimmest Day of Karkat’s sixth sweep, he disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee’s sign, “Servant of the Lord” http://www.charmsoflight.com/Images/Zodiac/Capricorn.png  
> Alternate sign, “Lord of Servants” http://www.capricornzodiacsign.net/images/capricorn.jpg


	18. Motherfucking Miracles

The day before the Dimmest Day, astronomers predicted only forty-three minutes of sunlight, which was pretty dim, but blinding compared to tomorrow, when the sun would not rise at all. Gamzee drew the blackout curtains on the dark sky and promised Karkat that tomorrow would be wonderful and special and he’d have a grand old time. Karkat apathetically agreed and slipped into his slime.  
  
Then Gamzee decided it would be worth pranking Karkat at least one more time. Maybe he’d make Karkat  _feel_  something again, Messiahs willing. A good hour before Karkat usually woke, Gamzee burst into his room, squeezing a horn and hollering about the Morning Monster or some shit that popped into his pan.   
  
But the room was empty. No one in the ‘coon, in the corners, in the wardrobe, under the desk, or in any heap of objects large enough to be considered a pile.  
  
Then where was he? If Karkat had decided to play his own prank, he was one-upping his culler  _good._  Maybe Karkat stayed up reading in a library? When Gamzee investigated, he found the libraries empty. He doubled back and knocked on the door of the ablution block, then opened it—it was unlocked, okay!?—and found it empty, too.  
  
_What the motherfucking shit?_  
  
So Gamzee kept searching. He looked through hallways and blocks, opening any door that would and at least checking inside. He found the tutor’s education block and even Sundance’s old studio, stripped of mirrors and converted back to whatever the fuck it was before. He checked the nutrition and dining blocks, and looked in Karkat’s block again, and then his own block.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He searched everything again. No Karkat. Where could he be? Gamzee sent messages to the teachers on Karkat’s schedule to let them know that if his cullee showed up to their lessons, contact him immediately. He leapt out of his own skin each time his palmhusk buzzed, but it was just the tutors one by one confirming his orders.  
  
_Little bro, where the hell did you go!?_  
  
When midnight arrived, Gamzee had no choice but to tell the Compasse. He caught her at work, simultaneously drafting some important document—a speech or a law—and listening to a news report from Eastern Beforus. It sounded pretty dire, but the details slipped in one ear and out the other as Gamzee’s crisis held his attention.  
  
“My fishy sister?” Gamzee started.  
  
“Just a moment,” the Empress said. She finished a phrase and then looked up. “Yes, Mirthful? Is something wrong?”  
  
Gamzee fidgeted a moment. “I got news about the little bro. He’s… missing.”  
  
“Missing?”  
  
“Since this evening, I went to wake the little motherfucker up and he wasn’t there. I’ve looked everywhere he could be and haven’t seen a single motherfucking trace of him.”  
  
The Compasse questioned him about where he had searched, but Gamzee’s hunt had been thorough. She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and took a deep, fin-fluttering breath. The pain on her face looked like Gamzee’s feelings: sad and torn and helpless.  
  
“I can’t search with you,” she said. “The Seafarer is on expedition and I am booked through the rest of the day. But I can send a team of reinforcementers to join you in less than an hour. Command them through the palace; cast your net as wide as you need. Look for signs of his escape or abduction.”  
  
“Abduction!?”  
  
“We can’t rule it out.”  
  
Gamzee stared at the floor for a second. If someone had taken Karkat, right from under his nose,  _then that motherfucker is gonna pay, I’M GONNA MOTHERFUCKING MAKE THAT MOTHERFUCKER PAY—_  
  
“Mirthful? It’s going to be alright, we’ll find him.” The Compasse stood and placed her hands on Gamzee’s shoulders.  
  
“…Supposed to protect the little bro,” he said. “It’s the whole motherfucking reason I’m here, my purpose, if something happened to him—”  
  
“If you couldn’t stop him disappearing, then it will simply be your job to bring him back,” the Compasse told him. “I can’t judge you until we know what happened. Focus on finding him.”  
  
Solemn, Gamzee nodded and left the Compasse’s official block.  
  
As promised, he found a force of twelve guards—reinforcementers, reserve security for the amphibiortress and first responders to imperial emergencies—assembled for him in the entryway, not one of them warmer than olive. Their lieutenant, a cerulean with little twists in his horns, passed Gamzee a handheld radio and explained that the team had a few search routines for the palace they learned in basic training. He described their usual movements, call-in schedule, and radio shorthands, and Gamzee approved it all. No need to change it.  
  
The reinforcementers helped Gamzee scour the palace, further than Gamzee had ever known Karkat to explore, but these times were desperate and the measures had to match. His new soldiers were professional, reliable; Gamzee could measure the passage of time by their punctual communication.  
  
“R-1, west wing, no target, over. R-2, south wing, no target, over. R-3, south spire, no target…”  
  
They searched the courtyards and gardens, the edges of the lakes, counted boats to ensure none were missing, and found nothing. After nine hours of searching, Gamzee reported once more to the Compasse that Karkat was still gone.  
  
“You should rest,” she advised Gamzee. “You’ll be better able to look for Karkat that way.”  
  
“I’m not stopping until I find the little bro,” Gamzee told her.  
  
“Mirthful, I don’t expect that of you—”  
  
“I’m purple, right? This kind of exertion is just a motherfucking joke to me. That’s why you made me his culler. Wherever Karkat is he can bet every motherfucking thing he has that I won’t stop looking until he’s found.”  
  
The Compasse just nodded and ordered a change of guard, so fresh eyes could join Gamzee’s search for the dark daytime.  
  
The reinforcementers continued their regimented search, while Gamzee freely wandered the hallways, following instinct and hoping that some small flash of fear could lead him to his cullee. Most of the servants were taking it easy that night. Many had the night off to celebrate the Dimmest Day with friends and quadrantmates. The late staff quickly learned that Gamzee was searching for Karkat, and he had the advantage of knowing the instant he entered a block whether anyone there had seen his charge. Something in his expression or his gait signaled  _danger_ , so anyone who saw him instantly thought about whether or not he’d hurt them, which required them to think about whether or not they’d seen Karkat. They wanted to appease him with good tidings or shrink and hope he’d overlook their bad news. Gamzee exploited that phenomenon gladly. Made everything faster.  
  
_Was he really taken, like the Compasse thinks? Who would have taken him?_  No one came to mind. Even Karkat himself knew the only reason to kidnap him would be for political gain, and Gamzee couldn’t think of anyone who had a bone to pick with the Empress  _and_  could serve their goals by abducting a mutant cullee. So did Karkat run away? But he’s just a wiggler, surely the guards on duty or the reinforcementers would have found his inexperienced escape trail by now. It was like Karkat vanished into thin air.  
  
_Is this my punishment for piling him?_  Gamzee thought. His search devolved into wandering as his mind spun.  _For the sake of fuck, motherfucking hell, the little bro didn’t do anything! That was all my wicked sickness! My punishment shouldn’t put the little bro in harm’s way!_  
  
By the time the dim day passed and the next night began, Gamzee’s brain had concocted hundreds of grotesque and horrific ways that Karkat could have died, all of it vivid as his crimson blood. The Compasse managed to see him one last time, sleepless and scared, makeup smudged and claws trembling.  
  
“Mirthful… take a rest for now,” she commanded. “I’ll keep the guard on watch and double the reinforcementer patrol, but you need to your strength.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“If you won’t rest, pray. Pray he’s alright. It will help.” The Empress managed a small, encouraging smile. “We will find him. You’re not alone, and with all of us searching, he’s not alone either.”  
  
Gamzee reluctantly returned to his block, leaving the professionals to hunt for his best friend. He tried to spit some prayers, but he couldn’t find the flow of the rhymes. He paced, fidgeted, checked Karkat’s block again, returned, and then picked up a small knife. He really only knew one way to pray when his mind was this unquiet.  
  
With a long drag across his hand, Gamzee split open his left palm and waited for the paint in his veins to well forth. Then with one of his makeup sponges, he dabbed the blood and smeared it across his wall, tracing two familiar faces.  
  
_:o)  
)o:_  
  
Bowed before those symbols, he skipped praying and just begged.  _Please. Please let him be safe. Please let him be alright. Please let me see him again. Please, please…_  
  
Hours passed, but Gamzee didn’t budge. His radio buzzed with meaningless updates. Nothing. Karkat had been missing for a whole day. They had found no clues, no trail, no note, no sign that he was even alive. And if this ended with his mutant friend dead… if Gamzee had to go back to the life he had before, with nothing but the church to fill his time, with no one there to question and explore and wage the wars that needed to happen…  
  
_Please, bring him home. I’ll trade my life for his if that’s what you motherfuckers want. Just bring him home, please!_  
  
“…Murfle?!”  
  
The voice sounded small, like an echo or memory. But he heard it again.  
  
“Murfle!”  
  
Karkat hadn’t called him Murfle for sweeps, and even if the voice was nothing more than a hallucination, the compulsion to answer moved his body before he realized where he was going. He stepped into the hall and heard the voice again, “Murfle!? Where are you!?”  
  
“Here!” he answered, and he started running in the direction of the sound.  
  
“Where?!”  
  
“ _Here!_ ”  
  
Gamzee rounded a corner. Karkat stood at the other end of the hall, dressed in sleeping clothes, covered in dirt and mud with leaves stuck in what could only be windswept hair. Both trolls immediately ran for each other, but Gamzee reached Karkat almost instantly, and he enveloped the younger in his arms. Karkat clung back like a starfish on a boulder.  
  
“Blessed miracle of miracles, my little bro, I thought you ran away and died, or you got kidnapped and murdered! Thank every fucking miracle you’re okay!”  
  
“You’re here! The thing brought you back, that monstrosity saved you too! Fuckballs strung on my intestines, how the hell did I not notice that?! I should have known—”  
  
Whatever Karkat was saying, Gamzee didn’t really notice, too busy hugging the mutant as tightly as possible as fear gave way to relief.  _He’s okay… He’s okay!_  
  
After a minute of hugging, Karkat withdrew to look at Gamzee. “What even  _was_  that thing? I thought it was someone’s lusus at first, but no way would a lusus be able to do all of  _that_.”  
  
“What was what thing?”  
  
“The creature, you ignorant slime-nugget! The roar-lizard-beast! The thing we were following!”  
  
“We?”  
  
“You were there!”  
  
“Where?!”  
  
“Don’t pretend you didn’t follow me! I knew you were there!”  
  
“I never followed you! I didn’t even know where the motherfucking hell you went! I’ve been searching the motherfucking palace and grounds for you!”  
  
“Wait… back up,” Karkat said. He ruffled his hair and dislodged a twig. “You  _have_  been following me, right?”  
  
“When?”  
  
“Any time I snuck out during the day. You’ve always followed me, right? That’s something you do?”  
  
“I never motherfucking followed you.”  
  
Karkat stared at Gamzee like a pupa finding out for the first time that fairies were bullshit. “That’s impossible. I know you do it!”  
  
“How are you so motherfucking sure?”  
  
“Because I feel scared! That’s just you using the chucklevoodoos to teach me about facing my fears, isn’t it? Anytime I’m scared it’s just you being a ridiculous shit and trying to prove a point about courage, and so far it  _hasn’t worked_ , thank you very much.”  
  
For the first time in nearly two days, Gamzee managed to laugh. “You give me too much credit, best friend. The first and only time I followed you was to the library the first time, before we had a big talk about my wicked faith.”  
  
“You’re kidding.”  
  
“Whenever I hear you leave I stay up until I heard you get back, but that’s it. I figured you’re a young motherfucker who can sort out your own wicked shit in the daytimes. And when I followed you, I was… treating you the way the Church treats the unfunniest of heretics, and I never want to do that shit to my best friend.”  
  
Karkat pushed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and groaned. “Great. Now I feel like a brain-damaged grub who tried to pupate in a heap of its own feces. You must think I’m the stupidest, most miserable collection of cells that ever dared call itself a sentient being, don’t you?”  
  
“I don’t think any of that blasphemous noise. But I still don’t got my understand on to what the hell happened.”  
  
“Can I tell you in a minute? I’ve just started to reel with humiliation and I kind of want a change of clothes.”  
  
Gamzee obliged, letting Karkat go to his block while he found his radio and signaled to the searching guards that Karkat had been found. He blurted out the first excuse that came to mind—“He was crawling around in the vents”—and promised to provide a full briefing once he cared for some minor injuries.  
  
With that settled, Gamzee returned to Karkat’s block. He had cleaned himself up quickly, and also unearthed a piece of paper from beneath stacks of ignored notebooks. Gamzee recognized Sundance’s letter in his hands, delivered to Karkat perigees ago with little ceremony. Karkat never opened it until now.  
  
“Now do you want to tell me what the motherfuck you’ve been doing?” he asked.  
  
Karkat looked up from the letter. “Mirthful, your face looks like a lunatic just tried to draw his lusus using cawbeast shit. I can wait until you fix it.”  
  
“The only thing I got to fix is my knowledge of what the motherfucking shit you’ve been doing,” Gamzee countered. “I’ve known some pretty unfunny shit in my life, but this is by far the least funny joke to ever happen to my motherfucking self. I can’t tell you how motherfucking happy I am you’re alive, but don’t get your confuse on that this happiness is forgiveness. You need to tell me what happened, from the beginning.”  
  
Karkat nodded, and set Sundance’s letter aside. “Since I was obviously deluded to believe that you came with me in the first place, you deserve the truth. I can shove enough of this refuse together for a pil—”  
  
“You stay right where you’re sitting,” Gamzee interrupted. “And I’m going to sit right here. And then you’re going to talk. Are you hearing me, motherfucker?”  
  
With only one exaggerated sigh, Karkat finally began his story.

“Yesterday, I think right after sunset, I was in my recuperacoon, not really asleep, when I heard something scratching at my door. It was weird, and it wouldn’t cut it the fuck out, so I got out to see what it was. On the other side of the door and there was this  _lion_! A lioness, technically, or just some really huge cat. It was white like a lusus, about as tall as my shoulder. And it didn’t have eyes! Just a snout, and ears, and this blank plane of skin and fur where its eyes should have been.”  
  
“How did a roarbeast get in the palace?”  
  
“I don’t know! But no one was running or screaming, and it just sat there, completely tame and… intelligent. It didn’t have eyes, but fuck, the thing seemed so wise! And I thought about calling you, I really wanted to, but it put its paw on my foot, so I said nothing… and then it walked away, and it wasn’t a lioness, because it had a dragon’s head instead of a tail.”  
  
“Don’t you mean a dragon’s tail, instead of a lion’s?”  
  
“No, the back half of the animal had it’s own head.”  
  
“That’s a fucking lie, little bro.”  
  
“Like fuck I’m lying to you! Where the lion’s tail would be, it was scaly, and turned into a dragon’s neck and head instead! It had huge grinning teeth, and no eyes like the front half, but it sniffed me. Basically any time the dragon half was facing me it was sniffing me.”  
  
“Bro, my lusus was a half-beast, and I met a few others in my span. It’s the front half of one motherfucker and the back of another. No motherfucking way could a creature have two front halves.”  
  
“What happened to believing in miracles? I’m telling you exactly what I saw! This creature had a lion on one side, a dragon on the other, stitched together in the middle like some unfathomable abomination. Got it?”  
  
Gamzee bit his tongue. Maybe the little bro had just completely kicked the wicked shit in his pan.  
  
“Anyway! So the lion is walking away, the dragon walking backwards while connected to it, and I just… I decided to follow it. It felt like I was supposed to. And we wandered around the palace for a little while, taking all these weird hallways but never once running into anyone, until we reached a door to the outside gardens. It waited for me to open it and everything, and licked my hand when I did.”  
  
“Did the lion or the dragon lick you?”  
  
“The dragon. Maybe it’s a reptile thing, I don’t give half a rotted fuck why.”  
  
“Okay. So then what?”  
  
“The thing led me out, and we ran along until we reached this part of the wall, and it had this hidden tunnel underneath it, covered by a bush. So the creature crawled through it and waited for me on on the other side. And then we were outside the palace.”  
  
“Wait a tick-tock, there’s a hole in the palace walls big enough for a whole troll to get through—and you thought it was big enough for my motherfucking self—and no one ever noticed it?”  
  
“Apparently, because that’s what fucking happened! Excuse me if my completely true account of factual events is too nonsensical for the pan-rotted Faygo-swigging clown to believe!” Karkat said. “And another thing, we are keeping this escape route secret. We’ve got to keep this secret tighter than whatever you get when you multiply the Seafarer’s constipated face and his similarly reticent asshole. Got it?”  
  
“Alright, I got it. Now are you gonna keep talking?”  
  
“Oh, right. So I was outside the palace without supervision, which is also the time when I made the assumption that you were with me just because I was starting to choke on my own dread that something would jump out and kill me. But that’s neither here nor there. The creature led me away from the palace, into a forest, over streams and shit. I saw wild animals in the flesh for the first time, and everything smelled so… so  _warm_  and fresh, like…” Karkat trailed off for a few seconds. “Do you know how sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Beforus is an entire enormous planet, but that great big planet is actually a tiny part of a solar system which is a minuscule corner of a star system in our own relatively microscopic galaxy?”  
  
“…No, that doesn’t happen to me too hard, but I get it.”  
  
“Right. Whatever, I’m getting off topic. But when I was following the creature, I couldn’t forget that feeling for a second. It was like what I see in politics, but multiplied… fuck, exponentially! How every single thing in the entire universe, living and dead, depends on other entities to perpetuate its own existence! Everything is only possible because everything else exists. And it was like… I wanted to protect this impossibly small corner of everything that I call home. Everyone I know, everything I see, Beforus, trollkind, it’s big and I’m part of it, and I want to keep it safe. And I know when I was younger I had a  _feeling_  about all that, even if I didn’t understand it.”  
  
“And you got your understand on now?”  
  
Karkat nodded with grim conviction. “Yes. I do now. When everything with Sundance happened, I felt so weak and stupid, and I gave up. But reality is huge and expansive and incomprehensible, and no part of it, not even the tiniest maggot wriggling out of its own slime only to be eaten by the first flapbeast to see it, is totally powerless. There is always something that can be done. The creature knew that—I think that’s what it was trying to teach me.”  
  
“And it took two whole days to show it to you? Without deciding it’d be pretty motherfucking wise to tell someone, or write a note?”  
  
“Look, I didn’t think I’d be gone that long. I didn’t know how to tell it to go back. I thought if I told it to stop, I’d never see it again. I just kept hiking after it. Whenever the hike got hard, the thing would show me where to at least find water or like some edible plant matter… It kept going, so I kept going, even when the forest floor started to get steeper and steeper, like a mountain. And by the time we reached the top, I could see for miles. I could see the amphibiortress, and the ocean, and the forest I had just climbed through, and I saw the nearby city! Full of hivestems and lights. I tried to see the Big Top, but I couldn’t. Sorry.”  
  
“No keratin off my horns, brother. What happened next?”  
  
“Next… after like, a few minutes of gawking at the splendor of nature and civilization and everything in between and having like four or five epiphanies in sequence, the sky started to get light. But there was no way I could make it back to the palace before sunrise. I thought I was going to get cooked out there, but then I looked at the creature and it… swallowed me?”  
  
Gamzee pulled a disgusted face. “Swallowed?”  
  
“No, that’s… that’s wrong, it’s like… It disappeared, and inside of where it used to be, I could see a palace hallway. Like a window. And then the window expanded until the mountaintop was gone and I was inside the palace instead. It’s like it created a hole in reality, or it teleported me, or something.”  
  
“So is it a… magic lion-dragon?”  
  
“Magic isn’t real, numbnuts. But whatever the fuck that creature did, that was real. But then I realized I was alone, and I had no idea if the thing had teleported you too. I thought it might have left you on that mountain to roast, since maybe it didn’t know you had followed me—which you hadn’t, so whatever. Doesn’t matter.”  
  
He fidgeted with one finger. “I heard you call me Murfle, out there.”  
  
“Fuck no.”  
  
“I did. That’s what I heard. About three times.”  
  
“Then I was temporarily suffering from a panic-induced speech impediment that made me mumble while shouting like a newhatched grub. Past Karkat is an idiot who has no idea how to proportionally react to new situations. Can you just forget it happened, for the sake of my self-respect?”  
  
“…Sure thing, little bro. If you want me to.”  
  
“Anyway. Now that I’ve had some time to compose myself, I think it’s time for new goals. The last ones I made were two sweeps ago already, it’s time for me to do revise or replace them.”  
  
“Motherfuck, did you finish all the old ones?”  
  
“There were three goals. One was get a husktop. I did that, check-mark. The other was to train. That’s going to be happening for basically the rest of my life, but I’ve got a good foundation now.”  
  
“And your title?”  
  
Karkat pointed slightly behind him, in a direction he probably thought the lion-dragon had gone. “I’m going to find out what that creature was called, and name myself after it. I don’t care what kind of bullshit half-pronounceable symbols I have to unearth to make it fit, but that… that’s me.”  
  
“You’re a lion-dragon?”  
  
“Okay, not literally. But I am a creature that exists, who everyone thinks is impossible, and I have untold powers that those who remember me will struggle to describe.”  
  
“So you… wanna learn to teleport by swallowing shit?”  
  
With a shriek of rage—Messiahs, Gamzee had missed Karkat’s shrieks of rage—he shouted, “You’re being too literal, you obtuse dunderfuck! Alright, I’m declaring the asinine nonsense portion of this conversation over, and I’m about to tell you my new goals, so listen the fuck up!”  
  
Gamzee mimed zipping his lips to emphasize his dedication to listening the fuck up.  
  
“Goal one, reply to Sundance. Your role in this will be to find me the brightest glow bubble possible. If you think it’s bright enough, I want it at least fifty percent brighter. Steal it from wherever you need to, and make sure it connects to a battery. I’ll work on other tasks, but this is your share. Do you understand?”  
  
He nodded.  
  
“Goal two, get closer to politics. I have two parallel strategies right now. One is to basically twist the Compasse’s fin until she lets me be a buzzbeast on the wall in the imperial court. I will not speak, move, I’ll hold my breath if that’s what it fucking takes for her to let me in, but I need to see how the legal side of Beforus works, and not just from records or entertaining political roma-drama-deys.”  
  
Okay, Gamzee had to suppress a snort at that one, but he nodded and added a ‘go on’ gesture.  
  
“The other avenue is to write to Vigilant Lawscale. She has an office address publicly available, and she probably gets swamped with mail daily, but I’m prepared for that. I’ll write weekly, on the dot. Eventually someone is going to notice those punctual letters with red seals and think they’re weird enough to show at least one to her.”  
  
He kept nodding. Solid on both accounts. Warmbloods were usually dismissed as being too “short-sighted” to meaningfully contribute to Beforan politics, unless they were crying for help. Karkat would need some powerful and well-respected contacts if he wanted to be accepted in politics and not just watch from the sidelines. “And goal three? Are there three?”  
  
“You bet your last honk horn there are three. I told it to you already, but in a disorganized and backward way. I’m going to find out what that creature was called and use that name as my title. And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it’s my title, so the Compasse can’t go over my head and put the Endeared on my official records. My chosen title needs widespread recognition before my tenth wriggling day.”  
  
One last nod.  
  
“Alright. Dismissed!” Karkat said, and he turned back to his sloppy desk and started tossing papers and notebooks aside. With characteristic fury, Karkat apparently thought it was time to get his shit together and put his life back in vehement order, like he had before.  
  
“…Wait a fuck, little bro, we gotta tell the Compasse what’s been up!” Gamzee remembered. “We tore the palace half apart looking for you, everyone’s gonna want some motherfucking answers.”  
  
“Where did you tell them I was?”  
  
“The vents.”  
  
Karkat clicked his tongue. “That’s the stupidest potential cover story I ever heard… but I’m not in the mood to have Her Radiance tell me that I spent the last few days wandering with my latest imaginary friend, so it will have to do.”  
  
“You gotta come tell her. She wants to see you all safe and sound.”  
  
“There’s too much to do. I’ll get back to the Compasse later.”  
  
“Do it after you talk to her! I’ll help you all the way but you gotta motherfucking listen to me.”  
  
Gamzee only managed to deter Karkat from immediately pursuing his goals by wrapping one arm around Karkat’s middle and carrying him over his shoulder like a feisty bag of grubflour. Karkat screamed and kicked, clawed at his back, and even bit his ear, but Gamzee just said “ow” and laughed.  
  
_He’s back. The little motherfucker is back. Not just his body but his motherfucking soul too. He’s all back! Sing praises to the Messiahs and pour one out for this wicked monster Joker they sent to spread the good word, my best friend is BACK!_


	19. Take Me to Court

First, the Compasse suspended Karkat’s internet privileges. Though overjoyed to see him alive, she took his husktop so he could properly reflect on the stupidity of his ‘air vent adventure.’ She ordered Gamzee’s compliance in enforcing the internet ban. Gamzee disobeyed instantly.  
  
Second, Gamzee found a hyper-bright bulb. While Karkat used his husktop, he wandered the halls and found a team of trolls shooting documentary about palace architecture, taking pictures of bricks on the outer walls. Gamzee stole one of their flashbulbs while they weren’t looking, and Karkat called it “sufficient” for his purposes. Karkat had crafted a lampshade covered it with thin swatches of red and orange paper. When he placed the shade over the bulb, the room glowed with burning light.  
  
“It’s the sun,” Karkat explained. “I looked up the rules, all of this should pass cavern security. Sundance can keep the sun in her block.”  
  
“So you’ve forgiven her?”  
  
“Basically. The letter she wrote explained a lot. And she said if I fought as hard for any case less hopeless than hers, I’d win for sure, so there’s that.”  
  
“You believe her?”  
  
Karkat smoothed an errant corner of the lantern. “Why not? After all, she believes in me.”  
  
Third, it didn’t take very long for Karkat to discover the name of that magical creature.  
  
“It’s a chimera!” he announced early one evening. Karkat’s insomnia returned with a vengeance, making up for lost time. He presented tomes of notes gathered overday about mythical double-front creatures, and one of them—a lion and a scalebeast, usually a snake but sometimes a dragon—was called a chimera.  
  
“None of these are quite right, probably because only a handful of trolls have even seen one. Its name exists in legend, but this is a chimera. And that means that my title will be Chimeric.”  
  
“The Chimeric?”  
  
“The one who is like a chimera. Few trolls will ever meet me, fewer will know me, but my existence will be legendary.”  
  
“You’re a boastful motherfucker early in the evening, aren’t you?” Gamzee smiled.  
  
Karkat rolled his eyes. “Whatever. It’s perfect, so fuck you.”  
  
Karkat changed gears to write his proposal for court privileges to the Compasse, so Gamzee set up his husktop and sent a few questions to a friend.  
  
theisitcConvivality is now contacting jovialDevotion  
  
TC: WhAt dO YoU ReMeMbEr aBoUt wHeN YoU PiCkEd yOuR MoThErFuCkInG TiTlE?  
JD: FUCK man, THAT was DECADES ago  
JD: I just WANTED a TITLE that SOUNDED like WHAT i WANTED to BE for MY span: PRIESTLY.  
JD: I think I was NINE.  
TC: YeAh, I GoT My rEmEmBeR On tO BeInG NiNe tOo. AnD My tItLe wAs jUsT ThE ThInG EvErYoNe cAlLeD Me.  
TC: AnD I WeNt ‘MoThErFuCkErS, yOu kEeP On cAlLiNg mE ThE ThInG ThAt yOu cAlL Me!’  
JD: AHAHA! raise A bottle TO that ONE my BROTHER!  
JD: BUT what ARE you QUERYING into TITLES about?  
TC: ThE LiTtLe mOtHeRfUcKeR PiCkEd hIs.  
JD: YEAH? he’s EIGHT, right?  
TC: NaH, aLmOsT SeVeN.  
JD: OH, blasphemous FUCK to THAT. like A seven SWEEPER knows WHAT their MOTHERFUCKING adulthood IS gonna BE.  
TC: ThE LiTtLe bRo hAs fAiTh. SwEaRs iT’S ThE PeRfEcT NaMe fOr tHe rEsT Of hIs sPaN.  
JD: What name?  
TC: ThE ChImErIc.  
JD: …MOTHERFUCK.  
JD: THAT’S pretty SWEET, all THINGS considered.  
JD: SOUNDS like THE kind OF name THAT gets REPEATED in SCHOOLFEEDS for BROODS to COME.  
TC: SpEw tHaT RiGhTeOuSnEsS, bRoThEr.  
TC: I’Ve bEeN LiStEnInG To tHe nOiSe oF HiM GoInG OvEr tItLeS AnD ShIt, So iT’S GoOd tHaT He fInAlLy gOt hIs sEtTlE On tO WhAt hE WaNtS To bE.  
JD: BUT at SIX?  
JD: THAT’S presumptuous RUDENESS to THE future MOTHERFUCKER he’s GONNA be.  
JD: WHEN you WERE six, DID you KNOW you’d BE the HIGHBLOOD’S most HOLY and MIRTHFUL heir?  
TC: NaH My bRoThEr  
TC: BuT ThE LiTtLe bRo  
TC: ThE ChImErIc  
TC: He’s nOt lIkE AnY TrOlL I’Ve eVeR MoThErFuCkInG SeEn.  
JD: WITH that REDPOP blood, RIGHT?  
TC: It’s nOt aBoUt tHe bLoOd  
TC: It’s aBoUt tHe fEeLiNg  
TC: ThE MiRaClE Of tHiS LiTtLe mOtHeRfUcKeR’S LiFe, Y’KnOw?  
TC: LiKe wHaT’S ThIs lItTlE BrO GoT In hIm tHaT TeLlS HiM To bE So mOtHeRfUcKiNg uNsToPpAbLe?  
JD: I just SAID.  
JD: REDPOP.  
TC: ThE ReDpOp mIgHt gOt sOmEtHiNg tO Do wItH It.  
TC: BuT NoT ReDpOp fOr rEdPoP’S SaKe. It’s wHaT ThE ReDpOp uP AnD MaKeS HiM FeEl.  
TC: He’s sWiNgInG LiKe a mOtHeRfUcKiNg tRaPeZiFyEr oN WhEtHeR He’s a tRoLl oR An aNiMaL.  
TC: LiKe, If yOu tHiNk yOu cAn tAlK DoWn tO HiM LiKe hE’S SoMe dUmB BaRkBeAsT, yOuR AsS GeTs sErVeD So mOtHeRfUcKiNg fAsT AnD InTeLlIgEnT YoU’Ll tHiNk yOuR OrDeR At qWiK-E-D’S JuSt gOt sErVeD By tRoLl sOcRaTeS. hE’S WiSe aNd wElL-ReAd aNd cAn bUsT ArGuMeNtS LiKe rHyMeS AnD SkUlLs iN ThE DaRk cArNiVaL.  
TC: BuT He’s gOt nO CaStE. nO SiGn. No aNcEsToR AnD PrObAbLy nO DeScEnDaNt… ThErE’S NeVeR GoNnA Be aNoThEr mOtHeRfUcKeR LiKe hIm aNd hE KnOwS It. He’s tRyInG To lEaVe hIs mArK, bUt nOt fOr aNy fUtUrE MoThErFuCkEr. JuSt fOr hImSeLf. He lIvEs iN ThE NoW LiKe a aN AnImAl. A PrEdAtOr  
TC: SoMeTiMeS He’s a mAn aNd sOmEtImEs hE’S A BeAsT BuT He’s aLwAyS So mOtHeRfUcKiNg bRiLlIaNt  
TC: YoU FeElInG Me mOtHeRfUcKeR?  
  
The Priestly said nothing for a minute.  
  
JD: YEAH i THINK i FEEL.  
JD: I hope THE motherfucker PICKS a SIDE soon THOUGH.  
JD: I don’t THINK it’s DOING you ANY good TO be CAUGHT there SWINGING along WITH him.  
JD: HOW long UNTIL we GET you BACK man?  
TC: NeXt pErIgEe’s tHe tHe sPeCiAlIfIcAtIoN Of tHe sTaRdUsT So i’lL Be aLl uP ArOuNd yOu mOtHeRfUcKeRs tHeN.  
JD: NO, i MEAN when YOU get BACK for REAL. when YOU get DONE with CULLING.  
  
Now Gamzee paused. He typed a few words, deleted them, and tried again.  
  
TC: AnOtHeR TeN SwEePs i tHiNk  
TC: ChImErIc iS HeAlThY As a hOoFbEaSt bUt yOu kNoW HoW WaRmBlOoDs aRe  
JD: ALWAYS motherfucking DYING! hahahahaha!  
JD: BUT if THE chimeric IS old ENOUGH to HAVE a TITLE, maybe HE doesn’t NEED a GRUBSITTER, you FEEL?  
TC: I’Ll aSk.  
TC: LaTeR, bRo  
JD: LATER.  
  
He tapped his fingers on his leg. That conversation… kinda got weird. Oh well. A motherfucker was entitled to a little weirdness, he figured. Instead of worrying, he watched Karkat pour over his desk, hacking through ideas and uncovering sentences like an explorer through the deepest jungle.  
  


* * *

  
Karkat waited for computer privileges to be restored before he formally petitioned for court privilege. Gamzee had to admire the spin Karkat put on it all. He expressed an interest in court, but went on and on about how  _hard_  it must be for cullers. He wanted to have a better  _appreciation_  for the way culling helps everyone! In Gamzee’s opinion, even without flattery the Compasse probably would have given Karkat an observation day, but he couldn’t blame the—the  _Chimeric_  for wanting to tip odds in his favor.  
  
The Compasse confided to Gamzee, “You know Karkat’s moods better than anyone. He’ll try and stay no matter what. It’s up to you to notice if he needs to leave, okay?”  
  
Gamzee saluted her lazily, a gesture he would never have performed six sweeps ago. The Empress and Gamzee likely had different standards, but she was right that Karkat would pursue his aims long beyond the bounds of sanity. Not even Karkat  _really_  knew what he was getting himself into this time. Frankly, neither did Gamzee.  
  
The Court of Her Radiant Compassion contained the largest crowd of trolls Karkat had ever seen. At the back of the enormous hall, the Compasse’s throne rested, flanked by tables packed with regional Governors, so many that the delegates rubbed elbows. The Compasse managed to find a stool and half a corner of table next to her throne for Karkat’s use. There was no room for Gamzee to sit next to his culler—his bulk would have eliminated two necessary seats—so he knelt behind his cullee and tried to disappear.  
  
To either side of the hall, stretching from the end of the tables to the edges of the door, witnesses observe the action in the center. Layered three deep, the trolls listen to cases and decide whether to offer assistance or wait and see if someone else will. The crowd was mostly blues, with a few finned faces. Gamzee’s fellow purples couldn’t give a fuck about observing, and thanks to the treaty, didn’t need to.  
  
The third group waited just outside the doors. Gamzee knew there was a line of plaintiffs stretching deep into the palace. Only a fraction would be heard, but either they didn’t care or had no more options. Already, he could see anxious green- and yellow-eyed trolls peeking in, waiting for the start.  
  
To begin, the Compasse stood before her throne, an antique double trident held regally in her left hand.  
  
“O eternal Mother—who laid us to be one species of many colors—grant us the wisdom to right the wrongs we will hear today!” Gamzee nodded along at the generic blessing, mostly impressed the Compasse made a surely routine invocation sound fresh and meaningful.  
  
As soon as the Empress sat, the first plaintiffs entered the room. It was an oliveblooded man with blunt horns, accompanied by a frail-looking brownblood.  
  
“Your Radiance, I thank you for seeing us. My name is Ryebloom, and this is one of my cloves, Prismatk.” Gamzee winced. Maybe that name looked better on paper than said aloud. “Her culler recently passed on, and the troll in charge of her culling case is my other clove. No matter what I do, she keeps mishandling Prismatk’s case, leaving her in peril with no one to care for her. I am ashamed to admit my failure as an auspistice, but I need help.”  
  
“What is the name of your other clove?” the Compasse asked.  
  
“Ironclaw, your Radiance.”  
  
“Have you reported Ironclaw to her superior?”  
  
“Her superior is her matesprit.”  
  
Rumbling voices swelled in the court. Highly irregular, highly irresponsible.  
  
“No, it’s not that bad!” Ryebloom insisted, backtracking. “She’s helped dozens of trolls, but she just won’t take this seriously… She’s a good friend, and a culler! She just needs guidance!”  
  
“The Vigilants will investigate her,” the Compasse said. “Focus on what needs mending today. What do you need, Ryebloom?”  
  
The man clasped his hands. “Well… Prismatk needs a new culler. Someone who will outlive her. I would cull her myself, but I cull two burgundies already. I had to leave them with my moirail to come here, and he is a culler, too. We’ve been waiting two weeks to see you, your Radiance, eating nothing but—”  
  
A cerulean-blooded observer stepped forward. “Compasse, I cannot stand by and listen to these tales of suffering! Let me take Prismatk into my hive. I have all she will need: food, space, clean mountain air…”  
  
Prismatk snapped to attention. “Where is the hive?”  
  
“In the Raptorbeast Reaches, with views of sea and sky.”  
  
She shook her head. “No. No, too far. I won’t go.”  
  
“Oh, a choosy beggar?” the cerulean’s magnanimity turned to a sneer.  
  
“Let me stay home, ‘ompasse,” Prismatk turned to the Empress, a funny accent marring her speech. “She’s ‘razy and ridi’ulous, but when Ryebloom ‘ondu’ts us, Iron’law and I are the sweetest song. Don’t ma’e me leave them. Don’t ma’e me leave home.”  
  
“Where is home, Prismatk?” the Compasse asked.  
  
“Gellerella.”  
  
“Do any here hail from Gellerella?” the Empress turned to the courtiers. “Do any find it in their hearts to help?”  
  
The warmbloods awaited verdict. The coolbloods said nothing. Gamzee stared at the whole affair, realizing that this wasn’t meant to be a pity party. It was a twisted, reverse-auction.  
  
No one answered. The Compasse turned to one of the Governors. “Briteyes, it falls to you.”  
  
“She will have to go to a state culling house first,” the Governor said. “The list for cullers is long.”  
  
“Do what you must, but fast-track her for placement. No one older than two hundred sweeps, two shades warmer or more.” She looked back to the trolls. “Ryebloom, Prismatk, this solution is not perfect, but you have my word: Prismatk will stay in Gellerella, with friends and quadrantmates alike.”  
  
The trolls barely had time to say thank you before the process started all over again. The Compasse struck a perfect balance of swift and slow, giving each situation her full and empathetic attention and then losing no time bidding farewell to (mostly) satisfied plaintiffs to hear the next case. Some situations resolved quickly, others slowly. Sometimes the most the Compasse could do was schedule a hearing, particularly if the case concerned unintended side-effects of her own rulings. For the Compasse, court was a time when she had to hold back a tidal wave with nothing more than her wit. To most every observer, she succeeded.  
  
After four hours, court resolved; though there were unheard cases, everyone had to leave. Karkat packed up his notes—the little motherfucker had taken twenty-four pages of goddamn notes, in really fucking small handwriting—and then tugged lightly on the Compasse’s skirt.  
  
“…I never realized ruling was so hard,” he told her.  
  
The Compasse laughed. “This is nothing, Karkat. Court is my favorite part of being Empress. I feel like I make a difference here.”  
  
“I believe you,” Karkat said. “Can I come back tomorrow?”  
  
“You’re not tired?”  
  
Karkat shook his head.  
  
“Well… as often as you like. But keep in my your schoolfeeding comes first…” Gamzee tuned out the Empress’s terms and conditions. Motherfuck if  _he_ had to sit through court every goddamn time Karkat wanted to come. And he’d be held to the same attentive standards too. Hell, maybe if Karkat proved himself attentive Gamzee would get these times off.  
  
In the moment, he and Karkat needed a meal. On the way to the nutrition block, Karkat glanced over his notes, but then looked up at Gamzee again.  
  
“Have you ever been to court before?”  
  
“Nah, motherfucker.”  
  
“I thought there were mandatory attendance hours.”  
  
“I was a motherfucking imperial delinquent,” Gamzee winked at Karkat. “But that’s a secret.”  
  
Karkat snorted and tucked his pages away. “You know, I’m grateful.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For the fact that you’re not like other cullers. If you treated me the same way those coolbloods are going to treat the warms, I think I would have flipped my shit ages ago, permanently with no hope to recover. Things haven’t been giggles and cotton candy between us the whole time, but I’m glad it’s been you instead of someone else.”  
  
Oh fuck. Oh fucking Messiahs. He wanted to hug Karkat right there, pap him and kiss him and tell him—coherently this time—how he’s been pale for Karkat since almost the motherfucking start…  
  
“I mean—don’t be getting your gratitude on too strong,” Gamzee said. “I’ve messed up a lot of shit, culling you.”  
  
“Of course. You’re religious, not divine. But so far the mistakes have either not done any harm or have been crucial to making you… well,  _you_.” Karkat managed a small, tired smile. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”  
  
“…Why are you saying all this at me now?”  
  
“I just thought it was something you’d want to hear,” Karkat said. The smallest niggle of anxiety brewed under his words. “And there are other things, I’d want to say. If you want to hear. Or if you want to say something. I know I’m basically a raving shithive lunatic most days, trying to do ten nights worth of stuff in one, but… I could find time listen.”  
  
They walked most of a hallway in silence, but Gamzee was pretty sure Karat could hear his heart thudding in his chest.  
  
_He’s hitting on me, HE’S MOTHERFUCKING HITTING ON ME, but he can’t be, STILL TOO MOTHERFUCKING YOUNG, always gonna be too young, HE'S A CRIME AND A SIN AND DAMNATION, this can’t be happening, HE DOESN’T MOTHERFUCKING KNOW WHAT HE’S MOTHERFUCKING DOING, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, AND IF HE’S TRYING TO BE A MOTHERFUCKING TEMPTER, messiahs give me strength, MESSIAHS DAMN ME NOW—_  
  
“Well… that’d be a pretty boring conversation,” Gamzee said. “I don’t got much I’d wanna say.”  
  
Like a popped lightbulb, Karkat’s thoughts went dark. They reached his block without another word. Karkat pulled out his notes, transcribing names and other identifiers onto a list. Gamzee opened his computer and stared at a blank browser.  
  
“…The offer stands regardless,” Karkat said after ten minutes.  
  
Gamzee just nodded. Hopefully his makeup hid his blush.


	20. Chimeric, Called Karkat

Karkat’s sweet seven approached like the offspring of a train and a bullet. Gamzee tried to prepare, especially for the chance that Karkat would want to “say things” to him after the celebration. So, Gamzee made sure to give Karkat his present first.  
  
Over breakfast, he handed Karkat a thick book with a ribbon tied around it. Karkat turned it around, looking for a title, but the covers had no lettering, just two embossed leather crests. The front depicted a lioness, and the back a dragon. If Karkat flipped the book, he could easily make the dragon the front cover instead.  
  
“It’s a journal?” Karkat asked.  
  
“For whatever you wanna write about,” Gamzee said. “I was thinking, it’d be a great place for you to write the shit you can’t tell anyone. Like when there’s something heavy sitting its ass down on your thoracic cavity, and you just gotta put it somewhere? That’s what helps keep a motherfucker all chill and balanced.”  
  
Karkat’s eyes widened, but then settled into a deeper scowl than usual. “…Thanks.”  
  
Gamzee paused. “You don’t like it?”  
  
“No, no! It’s a beautiful,  _practical_  gift. Perfect for writing down shit no one wants to hear me say.”  
  
_By ‘no one’ do you mean me?_  No conversation with Karkat had ever approached the ‘close call’ level of that conversation after court, but he had to watch himself constantly. Never make assumptions.  
  
He backtracked,“You know I’ll listen to any shit you wanna say! I’m just meaning, if you’ve got some serious feelings, you can get your write on and maybe… help yourself into your motherfucking chill.”  
  
“A feelings diary.” Karkat sighed. “You gave me a book that looks like an ancient tome that Troll Plato probably used as a pail for when his imagination and reason copulated with in order to imbue it with wisdom. This book looks like… the plot device Troll Will Smith has been hunting for decades because it’s the missing piece of the movie’s mystery, but what will he find when he opens the cover? The insecure, overdramatic ravings of a seven-sweeper.”  
  
“Yeah… okay, maybe I didn’t think that through.” Gamzee admitted. He had two ideas when brainstorming: something “chimeric,” and something Karkat could auto-placate with, so maybe he’d stop unconsciously leaking conciliatory cravings in Gamzee’s direction. He should not have tried to do both things with the same gift.  
  
Karkat just sighed. “It’s fine. I know what you meant. Thanks.”  
  
_No motherfucking way does he know… right?_  
  
Gamzee just told a joke about how he can’t give Karkat a pair of sickles every sweep, which at least got them off the topic of the journal. Preparations for the rest of the night filled the time well after that.  
  
In the sweep since his last celebration, Karkat had evolved from prince to politician. He made a point to introduce himself to everyone and learn about them, their wants and worries. His favored self-introduction, “The Chimeric, currently called Karkat” didn’t win him much respect, but a few nobles did speak with him, mostly ones already accustomed to his presence in court. One blueblood hung around after his friends fled and toasted Karkat.  
  
“Well, ‘Chimeric-called-Karkat,’ I wish you good fortune in your sweet seven,” he said. “Like you even need it. Life doesn’t get luckier than this.”  
  
“Any troll can find ways to improve their situation, even if an outsider calls it perfect,” he said.  
  
“You sit beside the Compasse in court. You live in a palace and never want for anything. Your world is paradise, while a culler’s work is never done.” The blueblood drank.  
  
“You recently accepted four orphaned BUOYs into your hive, if I remember correctly,” Karkat mentioned.  
  
“Four orphaned whats?”  
  
“Burgundy, Umber, Ocher, Yellowgreen. A catch-all term for the warmest shades.”  
  
The noble nodded. “Right, them. I shouldn’t have volunteered for that. When I go back East, I’ll have to hold a local court. Everyone will beg me for help but I don’t have the limitless resources of the Empire to give. I barely have enough to cull those BOYs or whatever. Everything will be carved into neat little parcels for grubby lowbloods who want--”  
  
“Excuse me, is it a hemoscale?” Karkat interrupted him.  
  
“...Huh?”  
  
“Do trolls have a hemoscale? Or a hemorank?”  
  
“No, it’s the hemospectrum”  
  
“Exactly. It’s a color wheel, where none is higher or lower than another. Before you decide that you need to run your mouth and complain—which I think you’re on to something, so I’ll listen—think about how the meaning of your words affects other people, am I clear?”  
  
“Y-Yes?” Bemused, the troll agreed dumbly. Odds were no one had ever spoken to him this sharply in his span.  
  
“Alright. So you’re asking about the balance of resources reserved for BUOYs as opposed to other colors, correct?”  
  
“Yes, that,” the troll nodded.  
  
“Is that really the issue? Do you think warm castes deserve less than you do?”  
  
“No, of course not! But when there are shortages, the first ordered to make do with less are coolbloods. Things are far worse in the East than the news says. There’s barely enough water in the river to drink, let alone irrigate. Import costs are through the hivecap, and rationing is imposed for coolbloods only, because we starve slower. How can this system survive if the ones expected to defend it are abused? Who culls the cools?”  
  
“The warms do,” Karkat said.  
  
“Impossible.”  
  
“Listen! The only trait the hemospectrum fully explains is lifespan variance. Your blood is not what makes you generous, or intelligent, or empathetic. If a good culler is someone filled with love for all of troll kind, why are they assigned by caste? Each troll knows for themselves when they need help, and how to help others.”  
  
The blue blood had clearly never considered this perspective. Mystified, he stroked his chin. “So how would you identify qualified cullers? What’s to stop everyone from simply deciding not to care?”  
  
“I’ve been reading briefs by Educator Sapphire…”  
  
Ugh, politics. Gamzee was so accustomed to tuning out when courtly matters came up that it happened almost automatically. He looked around the hall for something more interesting. Trolls everywhere, as usual. Looking all fancy and trying out outdo each other like tropical wingbeasts… And that’s when he saw her.  
  
She glittered. The troll had draped herself in dark green fabric that hugged her chest and then spilled to the floor like a waterfall. The folds of her skirt contained hundreds of tiny crystals, like a sparkling nebula woven into her dress. The arms of those galaxies reached up her skirt and flung a few intrepid constellations onto her bodice. At first glance, she wasn’t wearing her sign, but as she turned the light revealed a textile-based miracle near her left shoulder, showing her sigil in bright jade. Her form matched her attire flawlessly, with a graceful face and short, elegant hair. Her horns reached high, stretching her already tall stature, and Gamzee would be tempted to think she was some sort of perfect wax statue if not for the small barb at the top of her left horn. A dash of asymmetry made the otherwise flawless troll look real.  
  
It wasn’t every night the fairest of them all was identified so fast.  _Hot damn._  
  
Gamzee left Karkat and stepped toward the magnificent troll, other attendees scattering at his approach without really understanding why. The woman noticed him, and with a turn of her head Gamzee saw a small charm on a blue lace choker: the Marquise’s sign.  
  
“Excuse this wicked motherfucker,” Gamzee said. “But you’re Mistress Benevole, aren’t you?”  
  
The Benevole froze before speaking carefully and clearly. “Yes. Please forgive me, I don’t attend these events often and most people here, while kind, are unfamiliar. Were you told to expect my attendance?”  
  
“Nah, no one tells me a motherfucking thing about the guest list,” Gamzee said. “It’s just a guess made out of educations I received about someone close to you.”  
  
She lightly brushed her charm. “Prospera?”  
  
Gamzee nodded.  
  
“Then you must be the Mirthful! She has mentioned you.”  
  
“What kind of noise does Prospera say about me?”  
  
“She told me that in her last correspondence with you, she told a joke which she fears came across in bad taste. While she would have preferred to come and apologize in person for her unfunniness, other obligations have preoccupied her. She hopes that time can heal the wound and no ill will remains between you.”  
  
Gamzee threw back his head and laughed. Hiding behind her matesprit and whimpering for a truce! There’s the real joke! “I’m reading her loud and clear! If you don’t mind being the shout-horn back and forth between us… You just let her know I won’t be made a motherfucking fool twice.”  
  
The Benevole paused again, like she wanted to contemplate that statement before acting on it. “I see,” she said. “Yes, Prospera does play tricks more often than she tells jokes. I can see where the animosity likely stemmed from.”  
  
“So you know your matesprit can be a huge bitch to other peaceable motherfuckers?”  
  
“She’s flawed. Every troll is. But all the same, I love her. Please do not ask me to list my reasons unless you wish for me to include the physically intimate ones.”  
  
Gamzee didn’t need telling twice. “Well, the Marquise isn’t our only point of mutuality. Another jade named Sundance lived in the palace for a few sweeps. She’s your student, yeah?”  
  
She nodded, a little sad. “Yes. She’s returned to the caverns, unhappily but peacefully. Reports say the Chimeric’s gift sparked a meager but clearly positive change to her demeanor.”  
  
He smirked. So Karkat managed to sign that lantern with his title. “Do you see others like Sundance? Jades just wanting to get their spans on in the sun?” 

  
“Every jade wants that, to a degree. Solar exposure is comforting, like a cocoon, but we cannot live in perpetual pupation. There are actual responsibilities to take seriously,” the Benevole explained. “A jade must constantly ask if her desires matter when weighed against the survival of the species. Some find a firmer answer to that question than others.”  
  
“Is it really that hard to care for a Mother Grub?”  
  
“It would take hours to list all the duties of the caverns. And a crisis does not care who is or is not on surface leave.” The Benevole smiled. “Even if caring for the Mother was a mere gentle air movement, I like spending time with my caste. I feel connected to something larger than myself, almost spiritually. Perhaps a minstrelister knows more about what it means to be jade than any other non-jade troll.”  
  
“Huh,” was all he could say. “Never thought about it that way. Do you got a Grand Jadeblood or some motherfucker like that?”  
  
“The only one who could possibly fit that description is the Mother,” she said, the smile turning to more of a smirk.  _Is this your sense of humor, Bene-sister?_  
  
“Before this conversation drifts away, could you help me find the Chimeric?” the Benevole said. “I wish to thank him for taking pity on Sundance.”  
  
His heart clenched at her use of the word ‘pity’— _that’s not what she means, get it together_ —but he nodded. “Yep. I’ll get you to the guest of honor.”  
  
“…I suddenly don’t understand anything. Is this… the seventh wriggling day of a titled troll?”  
  
“He’ll tell you how,” Gamzee laughed, then brushed his arm aside to show the Benevole the way to his best friend.  
  
In the ten minutes since Gamzee looked away, Karkat had the blueblood eating out of the palm of his hand, nodding and scribbling notes on a memo pad.  
  
“…And let  _them_  tell you how they want to be useful. Even if you can’t oblige them, they’ll respect you for asking.”  
  
“Yes… Yes! Thank you, Chimeric!” He shook hand, then scurried away as Gamzee and the Benevole approached.  
  
“How’s it going, little bro?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Oh, you know. Just fixing the system from within, one troll at a time,” Karkat answered. “And this is…”  
  
“This is Mistress Benevole, Sundance’s mentor.”  
  
“A pleasure to meet you,” Karkat offered his hand. “I am the Chimeric, currently called Karkat. You’ve met my culler, the Mirthful.”  
  
The Benevole smiled her widest yet, showing two pristine fangs. “Why must you be currently Karkat?”  
  
“The government doesn’t yet recognize I’ve outgrown my hatch name. Chronology and maturity refuse to synchronize.”  
  
She laughed. “Then, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Chimeric. If you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”  
  
“Turns out, I need to talk to you too. Take as many of my moments as you need.”

* * *

  
Karkat and the Benevole mostly discussed things Gamzee already knew. He did learn that the Benevole intended to spend her decade on the surface not living with her matesprit (though they would see each other) but as a foster culler. The endless self-sacrifice oozing off of her made Gamzee’s lips curl, but Karkat—the better judge of bullshit—took no issue with her plans to offer emergency culling.  
  
When the evening wound down, Gamzee followed Karkat to his block, head full of thoughts. He winced with regret over his inept gift, marveled at Karkat’s influence, and puzzled over the the Benevole’s presence. Did she know the details of Sundance’s desertion? Did she know her matesprit was involved in both her escape and capture? Did she know Gamzee’s role in that shit?  
  
In Karkat’s space, Gamzee camped in a corner so Karkat could change clothes. Karkat idly opened his husktop, but soon found something amiss in the machine. He hit some keystroke patterns, frowned, turned it off and on again. Then he snarled.  
  
“Everything okay, man?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“It’s a virus!” Karkat said. “My husktop is crawling with porn pop-ups!”  
  
“Wait, you’ve been visiting—”  
  
“Fuck no! Don’t even fucking say it! Someone sent me a virus, and I think I know who.”  
  
“Who, then?”  
  
“An online friend. A programmer. He’s kind of a genius but can’t decide if he wants to act like it. We’ve been discussing code for a few perigees now.”  
  
“Well, motherfuck,” Gamzee leaned to look over Karkat’s shoulder. Yep, those were porn ads alright: all quadrants, full of low-res and enticingly clickable video clips. Karkat had a few firewall applications open already, searching for the system weakness that his friend had exploited.  
  
“Aha! Gotcha!” Karkat said.  
  
“You busted up the virus?”  
  
“No, I just found that narcissist’s calling card.” Karkat tapped a few more keys and an image opened of a note typed in yellow Courier font.

happy wriiggliing day CG  
ii got you two pre2ent2  
the fiir2t one ii2 a programmiing le22on  
get thii2 2hiit off your computer  
and that’2 the le22on  
good luck

you’ll get your 2econd pre2ent after that  
make 2ure you do that before the dark 2ea2on  
otherwii2e the giift ii2 u2ele22 and 2o are you

congrat2 on beiing older 

thaumaturgiicAureliian 

  
A strange, rumbly sort of shriek welled in Karkat’s throat. “Are you kidding me? Are you  _fucking_  kidding me?! This is his idea of a present?! This is his idea of  _teaching_?! He just fucked up my husktop with the odious discharge of a thousand pornbots and then calls it a present when I have to fix it myself!?”  
  
Gamzee laughed. “He got you good, motherfucker!”  
  
“I am going to stick my ambulatory appendage so far up his waste chute he will resemble a puppet intended to frighten cawbeasts that I somehow impaled ass-first on my own leg! And then I’m going to take a long walk and see how his skull appreciates the treatment!”  
  
Gamzee just slid his husktop next to Karkat’s and took his palmhusk to the corner. He always looked so pappable when he was furious. Better keep distance. “If you need a clean terminal, you got one.”  
  
“This shouldn’t take long. The smug son of a stinkworm didn’t write anything all that hard, I think.” He clicked a few more times. “…I hope.”  
  
Gamzee settled into an armchair with a few stupid palmhusk games… but his exhaustion ran deeper than expected. As Karkat’s counter-hacking stretched on, he zoned out… then dozed…  
  
Then slept.


	21. History Being Written

When Gamzee woke, it was late afternoon. There was a blanket on him. Not just draped over his lap, but tucked around him, secure and warm. A clean face towel and fresh tubes of paint had been left out, while a one-word note—LIBRARY—rested on top of his palmhusk, which had been plugged in to charge.  
  
_…the fuck?_  
  
Someone noticed him fall asleep. Someone made him comfortable, and someone prepared most everything he would need after waking. In Gamzee’s hundred and nine sweeps, that had never happened to him.  
  
And the only possible culprit was Karkat.  
  
But… nah. Gamzee closed his eyes and breathed deeply again. More likely this was a dream. The little bro had been so independent lately, why wouldn’t his fucked-up think pan conjure up a pale fantasy to match that attitude? Better hold onto a dream this sweet. Keep dreaming.  
  
He heard the door open and close, and then some shuffling noises. Then typing noises. Gamzee found himself caught in the state where he felt alert but unwilling to open his eyes. Someone stepped close, paused nearby, then stepped out again.  
  
Gamzee opened his eyes.  
  
~~LIBRARY~~  
NUTRITION   
BLOCK  
  
He smiled and closed them again.  
  
But wait… Gamzee was definitely awake now. And all this dreamy-stuff was still happening. What the hell? This was real?  
  
After a few more minutes of confusion, door opened again. He looked over at Karkat.  
  
“Evening,” Karkat greeted. “I brought crackers, if you want any.”  
  
“…Oh,” Gamzee wiggled and stretched in the chair. “Thanks, little bro.”  
  
“No problem… Oh,  _fuck_!” Karkat looked at the table next to Gamzee. “I forgot a water basin, you can’t clean your face dry! I’ve only been watching you put that shit on your face for a half-dozen sweeps now, how the hell do I forget something that standard?”  
  
“It’s fine, don’t worry! You didn’t have to do any of this motherfucking shit, so it’s all good.”  
  
“Still, I’ll get it. I’m already standing.”  
  
In a minute, Karkat brought a bowl of warm water and a hand mirror for good measure.  
  
“What’s got you doing all this?”  
  
“Just a piece of advice I gave yesterday. I need to follow it.”  
  
“About warms culling cools?” Gamzee dipped the towel into the water and scrubbed away yesterday’s makeup. “Is this what you meant by that?”  
  
“Not quite. Some culling can only be unidirectional, like the Guardian paradigm. But the Educator-Facilitator paradigm is applicable to members of any blood caste. That’s what I was trying to explain to Starkind at the party.”  
  
Too many motherfucking paradigms. “Bro, I don’t need any of that. I’ve got my shit together.”  
  
“You practice a religion where you hose yourself with Faygo, finger-paint with fake blood, and then giggle like an asshole on idiot drugs.”  
  
“Blasphemies aren’t an argument, bro. Get on the faith’s level and sling your arrows from there.”  
  
“I’ll sling my arrows from wherever I goddamn please. I’ve had a lot of time to think about everything, in between cursing my past self for making friends with TA.” Karkat holds up his new journal, lion-side out. “So you’re welcome to read it and—”  
  
“No! That’s—a motherfucker can’t read another motherfucker’s journal!” Gamzee spluttered.  _NO no NO no NO no, SEVEN six FIVE four THREE—_  
  
Karkat’s expression didn’t change, like he expected that answer. “Fine. Then you agree that my every action doesn’t require an in-depth analysis of my reasons?”  
  
Motherfuck if Gamzee didn’t  _want_  answers to Karkat’s every action, but… “I guess that’s what I’m motherfucking saying.”  
  
“Then you forfeit the right to ask why I do nice things for you,” Karkat said. “Our history spans my whole life. You’ve seen me at my worst and for some reason didn’t tell the Compasse to fuck herself with a noodly appendage and then run for the hills. And given that fact…”  
  
With his face clear, Gamzee held his greasepaint sponge for a second. Seeing Karkat at his worst… early memories flipped about his pan. He remembered a time when Karkat, barely two sweeps, broke down screaming over his mutation. Gamzee hugged the little motherfucker and called his blood miracles until the tears stopped. Had he shooshed him, too? He didn’t pap, but what about shoosh? He couldn’t remember. Was that their true first feelings jam? Not when Karkat was six—coherent and conscious six—but when he was  _two_? Barely old enough to understand that he shouldn’t trust just anyone with his feelings? And on his first motherfucking day in the palace, when he met that little nugget of harshwhimsy, had Gamzee felt pale then? Has he really been pretending to not be a motherfucking monster for over six sweeps?  
  
“…Which, in summation, suggests to me that culling should not be viewed as a stagnant, unalterable contract. My needs are not the same from sweep to sweep, and your responsibilities to other trolls, including but not limited to those of your blood color, are similarly flexible. If at all possible, I’d like to propose a Collaborative paradigm. I think that describes us, right?” Karkat paused and looked to Gamzee.  
  
“Hm? Sorry, I… missed some of that,” Gamzee said.  
  
Karkat rolled his eyes. “You’re proving my point, Mirthful. There’s stuff that stresses you out, and you don’t want to talk about it. I get that. But your first thought when you wake in the morning shouldn’t be to worry about me. I can take care of me  _and_  you.”  
  
He finally knew what he wanted to paint on his face. Gamzee dipped his sponge again and swiped white across his grey skin. “That’s awfully kind of you, motherfucker.”  
  
“I have start thinking of myself as an adult before my titling day. Otherwise I won’t be ready to be an adult when it arrives. Everyone I spoke with yesterday, from Starkind to the Benevole, proved to me that being an adult means people depend on you. Assuming you can just float through life like an idle gust of air is the most immature thing a troll can do.” Karkat pointed to his own chest. “I, for one, will not miss the chance to help everyone counting on me.”  
  
“But… there aren’t any motherfuckers counting on you. You’re not a culler.”  
  
“Maybe they don’t know me yet. Maybe I don’t know them. It doesn’t matter. There’s something only I can do, and fuck me if I’m going to sit there and fondle my shame globes with a giddy little grin on my face instead of getting up and  _doing_  it.”  
  
With his outline painted, Gamzee spread the white further. “Sounds like you’re about to set more motherfucking goals. You’re ahead of schedule. It’s usually every two sweeps, yeah?”  
  
“Fuck the schedule. I set as many goals as necessary, whenever I want. And there’s only one goal now: change the world.”  
  
Karkat picked up the plate of crackers and slid it Gamzee’s way just as he put the finishing touches on his makeup. Karkat paused and looked at him. “Hey… have you ever worn your paint like that?”  
  
“A few decades ago, I think.”  
  
“Weird. Why are you wearing it now?”  
  
Gamzee shrugged. “It’s what feels right at where my heart’s up in.”  
  
“What does it symbolize?”  
  
“I don’t remember,” Gamzee lied. “But it’s a good look, don’t you think?”  
  
Karkat took his turn to shrug and return to his counter-hacking. Gamzee looked in his mirror at the initiatic’s paint, the face used to indicate low members of the Church, often decades junior to the minstrelisters. He wore it daily in his wrigglerhood, and when he joined the Church properly he’d retired those basic shapes: diamonds around his eyes, at dot near each eyebrow, a wide smile, notches beneath each ear. He used to feel so comfortable with the parts of the world he didn’t understand. But each night with Karkat gave him new thoughts, ideas, and feelings. he couldn’t help feeling like an initiate again.  
  
He finally rose from his chair. He folded the blanket and cleared the impromptu makeup station. He thought about the first minstrelisters to ever exist, the ones who wrote the Testament and wrote chapters of purpleblood history as it happened. He wondered if those wicked prophets felt the way Gamzee felt watching Karkat: awed, afraid, and adoring.  
  
_Testament of the Chimeric…_  
  


* * *

  
Gamzee wondered how many people noticed the change. It felt huge, like a revolution. Now that Karkat told him not to worry—reassured him that he could care for himself—Gamzee started to notice how often he thought about Karkat, and what he was doing or feeling or needing. On the one hand, he felt relieved that Karkat wanted Gamzee to think of him less. Maybe that would help him finally thwart his perverse, pale obsession with his cullee. But he wasn’t hopeful about falling out of pity with Karkat anytime soon.   
  
Knowing Karkat was thinking about Gamzee—what  _he_  was doing, feeling, needing—had side effects. His charge’s little looks and gestures carried new meaning. No intimate secrets passed his lips, but having Karkat simply check up on him, care about how he felt or how his day was going… mother _fuck_ , nothing could have prepared him.  
  
_Is this something you learned in a romcom, motherfucker? How to seduce someone into your pale quadrant?_  But no, no, he shouldn’t think of it like that. Even if Karkat was seducing him, flipping their power dynamic like a coin, Gamzee had to keep his wicked self in line. No matter how hard Gamzee fell for him, no matter how directly Karkat asked,  _never, never, never_ —  
  
“Hey, you okay? You’ve zoned out again.”  
  
“Nah, I’m fine.”  
  
“I can go watch a movie if you need space.”  
  
_Will you stop being so motherfucking considerate!? I will absolutely be held responsible for anything I do to you if you keep acting so wickedly pitiful!_  
  
“Nah, I’m really fine. I just got a little nostalgic.”  
  
“Nostalgic for what?”  
  
“…The night I met you.”  
  
“No fair, feeling nostalgic for shit I was too young to remember,” Karkat grumbled. “You’ve tried to tell me about this before, haven’t you? How old was I last time?”  
  
“Three and a half. We were baking. I mean, I was baking and you were getting your order up at me, on how to do it right.”  
  
“What did I have to say about your anecdote?”  
  
“You said it wasn’t true, because I had always been at the palace. According to you, you hatched and there I was.”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
Karkat scratched behind one ear. “It’s just strange, because… that’s  _still_  how I remember it.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t remember  _events_  from anything before the end of third sweep. I remember snatches of pictures… Colors, smells. Voices, yours and the Compasse’s. A few other things. Like, I remember reading coontime stories but I couldn’t for the life of me identify a single book I read. Habits, but no events.”  
  
“Where do the event-memories start?”  
  
“Sneaking out to the library for the first time. You literally scared the piss out of me, and then called me brave.”  
  
“I’m still sorry for that, bro.”  
  
“No, don’t be. I think it was important.”  
  
“Important?”  
  
“It inspired me to visit the Priestly’s cathedral. That visit taught me more about you as a person, rather than just a hulking adult that followed me around.”  
  
Gamzee laughed. “I’m still a huge adult that follows you around, motherfucker.”  
  
“Don’t think of yourself like that. There’s more to you. Seeing you at Church really proved to me that you don’t exist for my exclusive protection. There are things that matter to you other than me.”  
  
_It barely feels that way anymore… have I lost something?_  “So what did you think of me? Or—any of it. I mean, just asking what you thought about my part in everything.”  
  
Karkat pondered. “Well, the first thing wasn’t about you. It was about the faith as a whole. It’s so easy to get lost in the absurd clowns and ear-splitting rap, but there’s a real kernel of wisdom in it: you revere irreverence. Nothing is so sacred or important that you can’t laugh at it. Life, dreams, memories are all ultimately fragile bubbles that all burst someday, so don’t waste time feeling sad over it. And heretics don’t even matter because your faith holds mockery in esteem. Anyone who makes fun of your religion is just practicing it.”  
  
“So it’s more than just pretending to be dead?”  
  
“ _Yes_ , Mirthful. I concede. Your faith is morbid and macabre, but it’s not pointless. When I was four sweeps, and everyone went shithive maggots over you pretending to bash a troll’s skull in, I nearly had a panic attack, so I couldn’t process that idea. But it wasn’t about the ritual,” Karkat smirked. “At the Church, you looked like you were right where you belonged.”  
  
Gamzee smiled, but cursed himself inside.  _How does this keep happening, he keeps opening up to me and I keep letting it happen, it doesn’t stop happening—_  
  
“But that reminds me. When was the last time we baked together?”  
  
“Roundabout when you turned four.”  
  
“Do you still like pie?”  
  
“Sure, motherfucker.”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Nothing. Just ‘hm’ to that.”  
  
The next time Gamzee made it to church, the Big Top felt huge and new. A few words couldn’t undo sweeps of shame, but for a blessed night his soul laughed along with his voice. Others saw it in him and responded in kind, matching his energy.  
  
“What’s got you smiling like a pack of hysterical barkbeasts?” the Priestly asked, his own manic grin showing nothing but approval.  
  
“Because I’m right where I belong,” Gamzee said.  
  
He returned shortly before dawn, still twitching with giggles, and found a plate with a silver dome waiting outside his door. He plucked the lid off to see a messy but coherent apple pie, lattice-crusted and still warm. And with the pie, a note rested underneath.  
  
MIRTHFUL:  
WHILE YOU WERE OUT, I CRACKED TA’S VIRUS. IT WAS HYPER-ENCRYPTION FOR THAT FABLED SECOND PRESENT: TICKETS TO TROLLCHELLA ON THE FIRST DAY OF THE DARK SEASON. IT’S A TECHNO MUSIC FESTIVAL WHICH IS BASICALLY AN ALL-NIGHT RAVE. IT’S NOT MY SCENE, BUT I’M INTERESTED. IT’D BE THE LARGEST POPULATION OF WARMBLOODS I’VE EVER BEEN AMONG IN MY LIFE, AND THE CHANCE TO MEET AN ONLINE FRIEND. BUT THE COMPASSE WILL NEVER LET ME GO. THE WHOLE THING IS NOTORIOUSLY DANGEROUS. ANONYMOUS PAILING, ILLEGAL SUBSTANCES, ELECTRO DISK JOCKEYS. YOU GET IT.  
  
I WANT YOU TO COME WITH ME. IF YOU DON’T WANT TO, I WON’T GO. BEFORE YOU TIE YOUR BULGE IN A KNOT OVER THAT, THERE ARE DOZENS OF REASONS I WANT TO SKIP. IT WOULD SERVE TA RIGHT, FOR GIVING ME A PRESENT SUITED HIS INTERESTS INSTEAD OF MINE, AND A RAVE ISN’T THE BEST ENVIRONMENT TO TALK ABOUT BUOY EXPERIENCES. IF WE STAYED HIVESIDE AND WATCHED MOVIES ALL NIGHT I WOULD BE JUST AS HAPPY.  
  
JUST SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT. ENJOY THE PIE.  
—CHIMERIC  
  
Gamzee clutched the card and beamed. Oh, he had missed this! Karkat wanted to prove so badly he could take care if them both, but nothing could beat the feeling Gamzee got when Karkat needed  _him_. The warmth still clinging to his soul after the visit to Church rippled, like the sensation of belonging in two places. With barely another thought, Gamzee hurtled down the hall to Karkat’s block and pounded on the door.  
  
“Come in!” Karkat shouted. Gamzee found him leaning against a medium-size pile with three books open around him.  
  
“You got it, motherfucker!” Gamzee announced. “That Trollchella thing sounds like a wicked carnival to me. And far be it from me to keep a troll from any carnival they wanna get their life on at.”  
  
Karkat smiled a little bit. For all that his letter insisted either decision would be fine, he wanted this one. “Was the pie okay?”  
  
“Haven’t tried it.”  
  
“Go eat, moron!”  
  
“Do you want any?”  
  
“No, I already ate the mistakes.”  
  
“And gave me the best one?”  
  
“To make up for ordering you around when I was little and made you do it for me. Don’t let my hard work get cold.”  
  
_Messiahs, I pity you so motherfucking much._  “Wouldn’t dream of it, little bro.”  
  
The pie had flaws. The apples weren’t as goopy as they should be, he overdid the cinnamon, there was no chilled milk culture to put on top, and the crust was dry. But motherfuck if any other pie in the whole universe ever tasted so miraculous.


	22. Left-Handed People Are...

The night of Trollchella, Karkat showed Gamzee the fabled exit from the palace: a hopbeast-hole dug at the foot of the south wall, hidden by a thick bush. It was a very tight fit for Gamzee, but he could understand how Karkat believed back then that his culler had managed to follow him as he followed the chimera. Outside the walls, a short hike and a longer trip on a multi-passenger vehicle would bring them to the festival. The whole while, Gamzee could feel Karkat’s fear spinning like a squeakbeast’s wheel.  
  
 _What if we get caught? Then I’ll get punished, but I won’t die. But what if I die? No, I won’t. But what if TA isn’t there? I won’t know anyone. I’ll get lost. He’ll find me. I know his number. No way will he miss Trollchella. But if he does…_  
  
Those anxious spirals continued the whole way to the festival. Karkat knew how to address his own fears so fast that his counter-terror thoughts were still audible to Gamzee’s psyche. He’d never met another troll who could talk himself through the panic while still feeling it. Like one of those old adages about courage; it’s not being free from fear, it’s acting in spite of fear. Karkat acted to spite a lot of things, fear included.  
  
They could hear the festival long before they saw it. Thumping music reverberated far and wide. Trolls decked out in black and their blood colors approached, carrying backpacks and furled-up tents. No group was smaller than five, and everyone had… unique ideas about what constituted fashion. Gamzee had seen his fair share of ridiculous outfits at Church but they made  _sense_  to him. He had no idea why a troll would ever want to wear that many belts, and not even around their waist. Karkat had researched raver fashion before leaving, and used a pair of scissors to hack an old, outgrown suit into “badass” hemoanonymous rags that fit his larger frame. His desecrated formal wear did not match the techheads’ uniform at all. Karkat himself started to realize this, and he had a harder time fighting off his own fears.  
  
 _Where is he where is he WHERE IS HE WHERE IS HE WHERE WHERE WHERE—_  
  
“Hey, little bro,” Gamzee interrupted, and Karkat jumped. “What does this motherfucker look like? Maybe I can see him.”  
  
“Um… Fuck, I haven’t seen a picture,” Karkat said. “But he’s a goldblood, he’s got two sets of pointy horns, and his sign looks like this.” Karkat held up two fingers, and placed another finger on top as a cross-bar.  
  
They got closer. A chain-link fence surrounded the fairgrounds, with a few entrance gates where staff checked tickets. Other groups were waiting around the perimeter for friends to arrive. After another few minutes of scanning the fence, Gamzee saw a likely candidate. A lanky troll leaned against the barrier alone, with short, spiked hair, double horns like Karkat mentioned, and a sign like a pair of columns. He wore black from horn to toe, except for yellow accents; stripes, an armband, fingerless gloves, and again with the belts, why do these motherfuckers wear so many belts? The only part of him not black or yellow was a pair of oval shades, with blue in the left lens and red in the right. For all the excitement around him and the party behind him, he looked bored.  
  
“Hey, is that TA?” Gamzee poked Karkat.  
  
Karkat noticed the bored troll and waved at him. “TA! TA, over here!”  
  
The troll looked their way and raised one hand half-heartedly, but waited for Karkat to approach before he tried to say anything.  
  
“What the hell are you wearing?” he asked.  
  
“Clothes, fuckass. What are  _you_  wearing?” Karkat folded his arms defensively.  
  
“Who’s this douchebag?” TA ignored the question and nudged his head toward Gamzee. He lisped his s’s slightly.  
  
“My culler.”  
  
“Lame.”  
  
“Okay, you know what’s lame? Sending a friend of yours a virus to make him hack his way into his own wriggling day present! That’s premium, grade-A certified bullshit! If you wanted to make me a better hacker maybe annotate a ~ATH manual with your bipolar moron-marker!” Karkat fired off. “Besides, he wouldn’t let me go without him.”  
  
Gamzee smiled and shrugged at the lie. What harm did it do for TA to think Gamzee was over-protective, if it helped Karkat feel less nervous?  
  
“Do you see my culler here? No. Because I don’t need her to go to some shitty music festival.” TA sighed. “And she’s busy, so she couldn’t anyway.”  
  
“Did you want her here? To hold your freakish hand?”  
  
“Shut up. I didn’t even feel like coming. This is so pointless.”  
  
Karkat’s jaw dropped. “Oh no, don’t you fucking dare! Don’t you dare be in a downswing! You were the one raving about how awesome this place was!”  
  
“Yeah, and I was wrong.”  
  
“Okay, if you only want to stay for a few hours that’s fine, but you are not leaving until we’ve at least  _tried_  to have a good time!”  
  
TA sighed. “If you’re going to flip your shit about this, fine. Let’s go.”  
  
As the trio approached the gates, the goldblood turned to Gamzee and asked, “So you’re MF, right?”  
  
“That’s what he does with people’s names,” Karkat explained hastily. “Shortens them down to abbreviations. MF for Mirthful.”  
  
Gamzee smiled. “Mirthful or MF, they’re both motherfucking me.”  
  
“Alright, whatever. Just don’t expect anything here to cater to your CIP blood. No one cooler than aqua comes to this shit.” He snickered. “Ehehehe, all the warms here are cooler than cools.”  
  
“Are you coming around?” Karkat asked.  
  
“No. It’s just funny. This shit still sucks.” The hacker stretched his arms above his head. “Maybe I’ll get sparking tonight.”  
  
“If that’s going to make you less of an insufferable prick, be my guest!”  
  
TA just laughed, nasal and whiny, like he knew something Karkat didn’t.  
  
Inside the fence, the festival grounds had four stages, arranged in a zig-zag pattern so each stage had its own space. Along the paths and edges, trolls had pitched tents and set up some surprisingly cozy camps. A series of spigots—faucets on sticks—dotted the grounds and provided hydration for the attendee’s revelry. And even though he was surrounded by smiling, laughing trolls, Gamzee heard shrieks of fear from all directions. Between the population density and their warm blood, the whole place resounded with hundreds of fears from thousands of trolls.  
  
 _I fucked it up with her—why did he leave me—am I gonna make it—does he still hate me—how will I survive this—what will I tell her—are they coming back for me—am I alone—what should I do—does anyone care—what if it doesn’t work—they hate me—what should I tell him—there’s nothing I can do—I’m gonna die if I don’t—_  
  
On and on, each troll trying to forget their fears for a night. He even felt the dominant fears in Karkat and TA’s minds: Karkat wanted TA’s approval, TA wanted admiration but doubted he deserved it. They hid these fears from each other with name-calling and pretending they didn’t care.  _You funny motherfuckers._  
  
TA led his companions to a soundstage where one of the main events should be starting soon. In anticipation for the live performance, the sound systems blasted the artist’s previous work. The red-brown-gold ocean swallowed them completely, and the audible noise started to rival the psychic’s intensity. TA kept his eyes—two-toned, like his glasses—trained on the stage, while Karkat watched the crowd studiously.  
  
Gamzee leaned over to TA. “ _Hey_ ,” he shouted to be heard. “ _How old are you supposed to be to be here?_ ”  
  
TA shrugged and replied with a rude hand gesture.  
  
The leading DJ finally took the stage, and screams of joy swallowed the fear. Everyone around them started to move: bounce, jump, step, shake, maybe even actually dance. TA settled for a head nod while Karkat tried stiffly to imitate those around him. Gamzee just faded from awareness as much as possible, like he was a shadow cast by a laser light. All in all, though it was too synthy for his tastes, Gamzee still figured the music was good.  
  
Through the song set, trolls would dance alone, in groups, or sometimes find a dance partner to romance for a while. Instead of in a ballroom, where a song and steps clearly delineated one quadrant from another, the ravers had to communicate their intention with body language and hope the other person picked up on it. TA had his fair share of invitations across quadrants, but he turned them down moodily, with a head-shake, a shoulder-turn, or if necessary, a push of blue-red psionic energy.  
  
Six trolls approached Karkat through that first set. Gamzee didn’t mean to count, but he did. Two were flushed; the little bro recognized the feeling of it, but had no idea what to do about it. He reached for his partners with traditional ballroom holds, but they lost interest in that inept response. The pitch solicitations confused him at first, but by the time the third motherfucker shoved him, Karkat responded by swinging invisible sickles at his suitor. It looked really dumb, but the troll smiled and winked at him. Apparently, some motherfuckers got their kicks out of picking on a little dude.  _Does anyone know he’s seven?_  
  
And one troll… Gamzee didn’t watch. He noticed the gentle, open-palmed approach before Karkat did, and instantly looked away and closed his eyes for good measure. He wouldn’t be able to stand it, watching Karkat respond to someone else’s pale advance. He didn’t see any of it: if Karkat had smiled at the troll, or looked at Gamzee before accepting, or whether they danced cuddled or spooned, or if Karkat smiled in that other troll’s arms—Messiahs forbid that Karkat liked it—ignorance would be his bliss, ignorance was safer for the both of them…  
  
Someone poked Gamzee’s arm. He opened his eyes to see Karkat. The pale interloper was gone.  
  
He held up his hand: a circle with three extended fingers.  _Okay?_  Rudimentary diver’s signing proved just as useful swimming in a rave as it did in water.  
  
Gamzee returned the gesture.  _Okay._  
  
The DJ ended her sick beats, and half the crowd dissolved while the rest waited for the next performance. TA tapped Karkat and pointed out of the mob.  
  
“Let’s go. My guy is here.”  
  
“Your who?”  
  
TA just pointed again. “This way.”  
  
They departed for one of the spigots, where trolls drank and doused themselves to get ready for the next show. After a turn each with the faucet, TA called out to another goldblood with ridged horns and a backpack. As they spoke, Gamzee leaned down to Karkat.  
  
“How you doing, little bro?” he whispered.  
  
Karkat took a deep breath and exhaled. “It’s okay. I’m still… adjusting. This is a lot to take in.”  
  
TA interrupted before Karkat could explain. “Hey, CG! Want anything?”  
  
“What?”  
  
He groaned. “Just get over here.”  
  
Karkat shook some water out of his hair and approached TA’s ‘guy.’ Gamzee saw a baggie of yellow crystals in TA’s hand, and a few matching packets in the top of the guy’s backpack.  _Drugs?_  
  
“Oh.” Karkat came to the same conclusion. “Wait, so is this… sparking?”  
  
“Yeah. Want anything? I’ll buy, since this is your present.”  
  
“Um… Well, I—want to know what you recommend,” Karkat stammered.  
  
The goldbloods laughed. “‘Oh, excuse me, Guardian, which drugs should I take?’” the guy mocked.  
  
“‘Garçon, do you have any fresh “fuck me up” this evening?’” TA added with a snobby accent.  
  
“That’s not what I meant! I don’t want to ask for something you don’t have!” Karkat cried. “Or use the wrong name and then you have no idea what I’m talking about because those drugs have a different name than what I’m accustomed to, inadvertently grinding the whole transaction to a halt and making you feel embarrassed that you don’t have what I was asking for—not to say that I even  _need_  any of what’s in that backpack to have fun at this place, not like some loser who can’t keep it together long enough to properly celebrate a friend’s wriggling day, far be it from me to shame you for your mental disabilities but you should be aware there are ample resources available so you can try and—”  
  
“Okay,  _wow,_  shut up. I know what you need,” the guy interrupted, digging in his bag. He found a white envelope and shook two green pills into his hand. “Soppers. One now, then wait and take the other. One hour minimum.”  
  
Karkat accepted the pills like two crystal bubbles. “What if I don’t wait long enough?”  
  
“Then you’ll probably need to puke it out so you don’t die. Maybe give it two hours, for a runt like you.”  
  
“Oh, go fellate a straight razor,” Karkat grumbled.  
  
Gamzee peered at the pills, round and chalky with little ‘z’s pressed into them. “You don’t have to take those,” he said.  
  
“I want to,” Karkat said. “This is a once-a-span opportunity for me. I don’t want to lose the chance to try.”  
  
“You can try them at the hive.”  
  
“What good would that do? They’re meant to be taken here.”  
  
“But what if you vomit and die?”  
  
He froze.  _I know it’s a bad decision but I can’t live a life where I never make mistakes._  
  
Gamzee never confirmed whether Karkat knew he could hear his thoughts when he got like this. But verbal or otherwise, he held his hand out to answer Karkat’s request.  
  
“Break one of those wicked motherfuckers up. I’ll take half a pill to test if it’s safe. Then if you only take half a pill yourself, the delay is harder to fuck up.”  
  
Karkat’s hand shook. “Are you sure?”   
  
He couldn’t hold back a hair ruffle. He had an insane hugeness attribute; if something was wrong with the soppers it wouldn’t hurt Gamzee as much as Karkat. “I’m sure. Nothing to be scared of.”  
  
He passed a pill to Gamzee, who split it down the middle with one nail. He returned one half to Karkat and swallowed his share too fast to taste. Karkat reached out and placed a hand on Gamzee’s shoulder. Not too pale… no, not too pale, he could allow it… But after what Gamzee had just motherfucking _done_ , just looking Karkat in the eyes was so full of pity and trust. And he couldn’t even say it was just the line of duty for culling, since no rational culler would come up with a plan to help their cullee experiment with drugs. On top of it all, Karkat wasn’t intoxicated yet; he  _knew_  what Gamzee’s actions meant. He could see it plain as a blank white wall.   
  
“Aw, how fucking cute,” TA interrupted. His guy had already moved on to open his backpack to others. “Hey, are you two done doing drugs together? Can we go?”  
  
“Go where?” Karkat asked.  
  
“I dunno. Some camps. Let’s meet people! I smelled someone cooking beefgrubs around here. Maybe they’ll share.”  
  
Karkat pocketed his one-and-a-half pills. “Looks like your upswing has started. Better make the most of it before you’re completely awful to spend time with again.”  
  
“Fuck you too,” TA said, but with a broader smile.  
  
In ten minutes, they were mooching snacks and soda from a squad of welcoming burgundies, and Gamzee finally started to notice the sopper’s effects. The unconscious fear in the circle seemed… distant. Muted, like there was a thin wall between him and the anxious miasma. If he had a stronger dose, the chucklevoodoos would probably disappear completely. What would one night of psychic silence feel like, especially surrounded by so many screaming minds? He may never know; tonight wasn’t the night to find out anyway. He needed to stay sharp enough to sense if Karkat was afraid, his best indicator of danger.  
  
Gamzee tapped Karkat’s shoulder and whispered to him: “The sopper feels safe. You can take one now if you want. I don’t think TA is gonna get his notice on if you decide not to…”  
  
Karkat said nothing. His mind screamed, but he calmly lifted one hand to his mouth, pressed half a pill past his lips, and swallowed.


	23. ...In Their Right Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have crazy cool drug headcanons and I'll write stories about those later, okay? :D

Roughly ten minutes after Karkat took his dose, they left the burgundies to join another dancing audience. Karkat seemed normal otherwise, if a little quiet, and the most Gamzee noticed was he walked a little slower. This time, he better imitated the ravers’ dancing, the dimmed fears in his head allowing him to loosen up. He even took initiative and reached out to trolls around him to dance, with flushed or pitch manners. Gamzee just bit his tongue, intending to only interfere with trolls who got handsy.  
  
Just when Gamzee thought his cullee had forgotten his presence, Karkat turned to him and reached out with a hand. Reflexively, Gamzee took it, and Karkat tugged, but couldn’t pull Gamzee off his weight. Shrugging, Karkat just stepped forward and flung his other arm around Gamzee’s side like a one-armed hug.  
  
Oh no. Oh fuck no, motherfucker. Since this situation could not be undone, Gamzee had to follow one rule for the rest of the night: do not pap his _drugged_  underage cullee at a music festival they snuck out to attend. Gamzee pulled Karkat off of him and shook his finger: the dive sign for  _no._  The grand and wise Chimeric eloquently replied by sticking out his tongue, but flashes of red and blue light distracted him. Hypnotized, Karkat approached a circle of trolls, and they found TA in the middle, twisting and flipping with grace, rhythm, and psionics. Trolls around him adoringly cheered on his performance.  _So he can be cool if he’s in the right motherfucking headplace._  
  
With TA sporting suspicious yellow hickeys and Karkat focusing on walking in a straight line, the next mid-set trip to the spigot prompted Gamzee to check his palmhusk.  
  
“Hey, little bro,” Gamzee said. “It’s been over an hour, if you wanna split the other pill.”  
  
“Okie doke,” Karkat reached into his pocket while Gamzee held out his hand. He’d throw his dose away, just to make sure he stayed lucid enough to—“What the hell are you doing, motherfucker!?”  
  
The young troll popped the whole pill into his mouth and swallowed. “Huh?”  
  
“Motherfucker, that’s double the last dose! We were gonna split that! Oh, motherfucking shit…”  
  
Karkat’s jaw dropped. “Ohhh…” Then he giggled. “Hey, we should get more for you!”  
  
“No, we should not,” Gamzee turned to TA, standing by and watching them with a completely stupid smile. “Your motherfucking guy said he had to vomit if he took too much, right? You got advice on how to make him do that?”  
  
TA wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, no. Don’t do that.”  
  
Karkat weakly punched Gamzee’s side. “Don’t make me sick! ‘M not sick!”  
  
“Half a pill was already heavy on him, motherfucker. If it’s dangerous I gotta get it out of him. Now, what do I do?”  
  
“No, dude, quit overreacting. Soppers have two ingredients, one to squish your sponge and the other to keep the pill together. Overdosing on the bonding agent is easy, so that’s why you gotta puke if you don’t delay. CG’s definitely clear of the agent now, so it’ll just hit him harder this time.”  
  
“The first dose was too strong already. He’ll be in some motherfucking trouble if a full pill hits him.”  
  
“No it  _wasn’t_ , you are  _full_  of shit, it’s the  _shittiest_  shit and I can  _handle_  this shit…” Karkat insisted, slurring.  
  
TA laughed and clapped his friend on the back. “Hey, CG, the sky’s clear. Wanna go stargazing?”  
  
“Wait, like… with the actual stars?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s pretty as fuck.”  
  
“There’s too many, we’ll get lost…”  
  
“Nah, I know my way around the stars. C’mon.”  
  
“What are you doing, motherfucker?” Gamzee hissed at him.  
  
“We’ll let CG sleep it off, okay?” he whispered back.  
  
TA led the way out of the fairgrounds, then up to the top of a nearby hill. About halfway there, Karkat lost the power to walk with his own legs, and rambled incoherently about how he could  _totally_  do it, just  _watch_  him while Gamzee lifted him and carried him on his back the rest of the way.  
  
When they reached the top, TA pointed up. “Right there, as promised. The sky. It’s okay, I guess.” The first thing Karkat did when Gamzee set him down was lift his head up to look, but he overbalanced and nearly fell over. Gamzee slipped an arm under his and kept him from plummeting to the ground.  
  
“Maybe you should sit, little bro,” he suggested.  
  
“Mmmmmmyeah,” Karkat agreed. He grasped Gamzee’s elbow and let his body go boneless, which did not help him sit down or make Gamzee sit with him. TA just snickered at them and took a seat, pulling out a small device that looked a bit like a glass flute. While Karkat pawed at Gamzee’s arm, the culler watched the hacker unscrew the end, shake a few of the yellow crystals into the end, and then seal both baggie and flute.  
  
“C’mon, grapeblood, sit. He’s not going to die if you sit,” TA told Gamzee. “God, CIPs just don’t know when to quit.”  
  
“Quit what?”  
  
“When to quit acting like BUOYs don’t got pans,” TA shot. “I get it that you’re a hover-machine culler, but cut loose for once in your span, okay?”  
  
Gamzee looked down at Karkat one last time, looking and acting so different than usual. But, nothing was hurting him, scaring him, or posing any threat. He sighed and finally joined Karkat on the ground. The stoned troll smiled wider than Gamzee seen in years— _like the little wiggler he used to be_ —and wormed his way across the ground until his torso was lying across Gamzee’s folded legs.  
  
“Happy now, motherfucker?” Gamzee asked.  
  
Karkat nodded and turned his hazy eyes skyward. Gamzee turned to see TA leaning back against the hill, little jolts of red and blue lighting dancing across his fingers and sublimating the crystals in his flute into a thick mist. Then he brought the pipe to his lips and drew a breath, exhaling pale smoke.  
  
“That’s sparking?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I thought you already took it.”  
  
“Fuck no, sparking during a downswing makes it worse. Gotta wait for the up,” TA puffed again and then toyed with the flute in his fingers. “This is something you and CG would know if you just let him  _live_  a little.”  
  
After a few minutes of quiet, Gamzee ventured, “I think I’ve got my notice on by now to the fact that you consider yourself a strong independent warmblood… What with all your motherfucking laser powers and knowledge of the strictest substances. But you’ve got yourself a culler, right?”  
  
TA groaned. “Yeah, I do.”  
  
“Who decided you needed one?”  
  
“Culling services took a look at me. They saw chronic migraines… bipolar mood swings… semi-prophetic but mostly apocalyptic delusions, and pretty quickly decided that I was never going to be fit to care for myself.”  
  
“But your culler’s busy tonight.”  
  
“Yeah. A shame, too. She’d get a kick out of someplace like this,” TA took another drag of his flute.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah. I told her I was going to Trollchella and she just said, ‘have fun, be back by sunrise.’ I guess I should be grateful.” TA sucked on more smoke, and Gamzee listened close to a train of thought in his head.  _What if I’m never anything more to her, what if I’m just a pair of eyes—_  
  
“Do you raise wicked hell at her like you’ve been getting at me?”  
  
“Nah, she’s chill. She talks me through the voices and keeps the lights out when my head hurts. Really, it could be a lot worse. I could have someone like _you_  for a culler.”  
  
“What’s so wrong about me being a culler?”  
  
“Please. CG’s completely hivebent. Does he ever get the chance to hang out with other trolls like him?”  
  
“Not very motherfucking often.”  
  
“And you’re  _scum_  for not letting him. You know the worst part about culling? It forces warmbloods to live like cools,” TA sat up and pointed at Gamzee in emphasis. “When you take a short-spanned BUOY and raise them in the hive of an iceblood or a wader,  _that’s_  what teaches them to be helpless and pathetic. Makes them resent their blood, their talents, and feel they’ll never amount to anything. CIPs like you keep perpetuating this system!”  
  
Gamzee just raised an eyebrow.  _Motherfucker, if you knew that they had to drag me into this wicked shit, would you keep throwing those stones at me?_  
  
“Seriously, ask CG about this when he stops being so wasted. He’s the one who knows all the Educators and sociohemologists who have documented this for centuries.  _Centuries!_  Dozens of warm broods spending their spans thinking they’re defective when they’re just  _hot_! And there’s nothing wrong with being hot!” Sparks of lightning arced across TA’s horns.  
  
“Maybe find your motherfucking chill, brother. Ripping into one purpleblooded motherfucker ain’t gonna fix it.”  
  
“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right,” TA leaned back against the hill again. “But change is coming. Warmbloods have more power than we realize. We’re going to do something great with it.”  
  
“What kind of greatness are you talking about here?”  
  
“Oh, calm down. We’re going to leave the planet intact if that’s what you’re worried about. But there’s another way. It’ll be ready for the Compasse any perigee now. CG’s done a ton of research for us, too.” TA took his deepest drag yet. “Just you fucking wait. Watch us  _shine_ , grapeblood.”  
  
Gamzee looked down at Karkat, thinking about the six sweeps of shining he had witnessed so far. This had been the Compasse’s grand scheme; if Gamzee lived as a culler, he would understand what made warmbloods so special and, overcome with desire to support them, would volunteer for culling in spite of immunity. But Gamzee couldn’t imagine caring for anyone other than Karkat.  
  
“So, uh… you and CG are close?”  
  
He blinked at TA for a second, then looked back to Karkat and took stock of where his hand was. Namely, smoothing hair away from Karkat’s forehead, spreading it into an onyx fan in his lap. And Karkat looked so thoroughly  _unconscious_ , innocent and oblivious, and holy fuck Gamzee’s fingers were inches away from that smooth, pitiable cheek. He froze.  
  
“Not like you’re thinking,” he said, maybe a little too quickly. “He’s just like a pet meowbeast right now, y’know? Got a little confused in my pan about it…”  
  
“Gotcha. Just wondering… when you started culling him. That kind of thing.”  
  
Gamzee leaned back on his hands, just to keep them occupied. “Sweeps ago.”  
  
“So how old is he?”  
  
“…How old do you think he is?”  
  
“Fuck, I don’t know. I thought he at least had some fill in his eyes. Kinda hoped I’d find out his blood color.”  
  
“Give it a sweep or two,” Gamzee said vaguely, then he changed the subject. “And yourself? You don’t got normal eyes to fill.”  
  
“Turned thirteen a few weeks ago.”  
  
“Congrats.”  
  
“I hate whenever I’m in a odd sweep. I feel off-balanced. A prime sweep is worse.”  
  
“You want everything divisible by twos?”  
  
“They’re just better numbers.”  
  
“I’m a hundred and eight. Is that better?”  
  
“When’s your wriggling day?”  
  
“End of the dark season.”  
  
“That’s twice as bad! We’ll  _both_  be prime!”  
  
“No way is one-oh-nine a prime number…”  
  
The numerical conversation flowed easily. On a neutral topic, TA laughed more often than he swore. The stars above shifted. The vapors from TA’s pipe smelled sweet, though Gamzee was certain his blood gave him immunity to a psionic’s drug. Karkat slept, deep and peaceful in Gamzee’s lap.  
  
 _…It wouldn’t be so bad, if I could pity you instead._  Gamzee thought, listening to TA rant about infinite loops anchored to lifespans. If he could just feel pity for a brilliant bipolar yellowblood, who was at least an  _adult_ , everything would be so much easier. That’d be living the dream: hive, lawnring, and lusus, with four quadrants filled by wonderful (or at least tolerable) people who won’t die too soon before or after him. The true Beforan dream.  
  
He looked down at Karkat and clenched his claws in the dirt.  _But that’s never gonna happen. Not unless this motherfucker quits being such a motherfucking miracle._  But something in the way TA spoke—and the way he thought—made Gamzee feel like he would at least understand Gamzee’s woes. This mysterious and radical culler had caught his eye in some capacity… perhaps she’d caught a quadrant, too.  
  
“When’s sunrise, motherfucker?” Gamzee asked.  
  
TA tapped his calling device. “An hour or so.”  
  
“We gotta get hiveside.”  
  
“Good luck making CG walk anywhere.”  
  
“Don’t matter. I’ve got some hoofbeastpower in my organ sack.”  
  
“Ugh, why do purples have the most awful way of talking about shit…”  
  
The hacker stood and stretched, adding ripples of psionics down his muscles. Gamzee rubbed Karkat’s shoulder, easing consciousness back into his best friend. The silly, uninhibited personality from before his nap was gone, but he still seemed very disoriented and had a hard time holding keeping his spine vertical. TA at least understood, and gave Karkat permission to save the small talk and goodbyes for their next conversation online. Then with a “Later, CG. MF,” he departed for wherever the fuck his hive was, leaving Gamzee and Karkat to find their way back to the palace.  
  
“I feel like I’m still asleep,” Karkat said softly, lying spead-eagled on the ground and staring skyward. “Like I know I’m awake, I am so obviously awake and this is all  _happening_  but I just feel like I’m in my ‘coon…”  
  
Gamzee froze for a second. “Soppers,” he said. “ _Sopors_ , how did I not see that before?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“The shit you took was soporific. You put sopor slime in your motherfucking bloodstream instead of on your skin.”  
  
“Oh,” Karkat took two seconds to blink. “Don’t worry that you didn’t get it. I didn’t either.”  
  
“You’ve got your fill of them now, right? You won’t do this again?”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Ever?”  
  
“Ever.”  
  
“Promise me.”  
  
“Promise.”  
  
“Good.” Gamzee leaned down and lifted Karkat first into his arms, then onto his back. He started the walk back to the multi-passenger vehicle stop, Karkat’s arms draped over his shoulders, his head resting just to the left of Gamzee’s neck. With Gamzee’s hands cradled in a seat behind him, Karkat’s legs fit in the groove above his hips nicely.  
  
“Why did you take part of the sopper?” Karkat asked.  
  
“To keep you safe.”  
  
“What if they were poison and you died?” The question was merely rhetorical. Karkat’s pan couldn’t process the implications of that idea.  
  
“Then you’d still be alive, so that’s fine.”  
  
“…Are you pale for me?”  
  
Gamzee ignored the question.  
  
“Hey. Are you pale for me?”  
  
He kept walking.  
  
“…Hey. Hey. Heeeeeey. Are you?”  
  
 _Don’t go asking questions like that, little bro._  
  
“Mirthful? Do you have a crush on me?” No matter how long Gamzee ignored him, he persisted with relentlessly monotone curiosity. “Do you? Are you pale for me, Murfle?”  
  
“That is an excellent question, best friend, but I gotta get my query on to something else first,” Gamzee said. “First you gotta tell me what’s so problematic about culling.”  
  
“…Huh?”  
  
“Tell me everything that is problematic about culling.”  
  
“Everything?”  
  
“Everything.”  
  
“Well, where do I start? The first part has been a personal crusade of mine, I think that methods for determining cullable infirmity are extremely problematic, full of ableist assumptions about the exact benefits conferred by lifespans…”  
  
Mind on auto-pilot, Karkat kept mumbling sociohemology in Gamzee’s ear as he carried his cullee to the station, then onto the vehicle, then off the vehicle and toward the palace. He expected Karkat to become bored with this obviously pointless busy-thought, but he  _kept talking_  for literally the whole journey back, never once slowing down. He didn’t even pause for signals that Gamzee was still listening.  
  
Regardless, Gamzee felt glad his little trick worked. Gave him a little space to think before sunrise. Specifically, it gave him time to think about how every time he heard Karkat call him that long-retired nickname, ‘Murfle,’ it inspired a strange cocktail of loyalty and love, the likes of which Gamzee hadn’t felt since he first heard the wicked word of the Mirthful Messiahs.


	24. Risk and Reciprocity

After perigees of model observation at court, Karkat earned a new privilege: permission to attend when the Compasse was not there. Every few weeks, she had to journey to some far corner of the planet, and left the Seafarer to hold court in her absence. Usually Karkat was barred, but his good behavior and long-term presence finally wore her down. With many hugs and crooned promises she’d see him when she returned, she departed for the East.  
  
Court looked much the same, despite the change. Trolls maintained their places, and everyone waited for the blessing as the signal to start. With a strut and a swish of his cape, the Seafarer stood before the Compasse’s throne and spoke the Mother Grub’s invocation dully, like a stock response. Even once he said it, he didn’t sit. It’d be rude at best and treason at worst for him to sit upon a throne he didn’t own.  
  
Warmbloods entered with their pleas for help. The Seafarer listened, and with no outward sign of concern or empathy, directed their case to the most appropriate authority: a volunteering culler, a bureau, a Governor. He wasted no words and cared for neither praise nor blame.  
  
Under his authority, court passed with shipshape punctuality, until a group of six trolls entered the hall. They wore knee-length yellow coats like some kind of luminous branch of the Beforan guard. At first glance, they looked stripped of their signs, until Gamzee noticed they each wore a hexagonal pin on their right lapels, signs inside.  
  
And one of the trolls was TA.  
  
His double horns, his red-blue glasses, his lanky build, there was no mistaking him, even with the altered fashion and location. When the trolls fanned out, he saw TA’s double-column sign on his pin. Gamzee wondered if it was driving him crazy to be so slightly asymmetrical. And as he watched TA, the gold blood’s eyebrows shot up when he recognized Karkat sitting to the Seafarer’s left.  
  
 _What the hell is CG doing here?! Sitting with the Governors! Who the hell is he!? And MF too, is he a Governor?! Was I shit-talking a Governor?! Holy shit holy shit holy fucking shit…_  
  
One of TA’s fellows spoke, a woman with a long braid. Her gold-filled, yellow-sclera eyes looked eerie and empty. “Esteemed Seafarer, thank you for seeing us. We are the Delegation of the Aurelian Psionic Institute, here with a proposal for Her Radiant Compassion. I see she is not present, but if she has access to a camera, we could quickly establish a video relay—”  
  
“I am her authorized regent. Anythin’ you want to say to her, you can say to me,” the Seafarer answered. “Now, what do you need? Is someone in danger?”  
  
The goldbloods glanced between each other. “We… have no immediate danger that we need the court to address,” the leader admitted.  
  
“Then leave.”  
  
“No! No, wait!” she raised her hand. “We have a presentation—the problem we wish to rectify is culling itself! We believe trolls should not be culled cross-caste!”  
  
The court mumbled. Golds who had a  _problem_  with culling? Karkat leaned forward.  
  
“We propose an alternate model,” the leader said. “Color-congruent institutions. Based upon writings from noted Educators and in-depth analysis of previous culling models, we believe that it is not only possible—but also practical—to allow warm castes to determine their own needs, and address them through their own efforts without any intervention from coolbloods.”  
  
The whispers persisted. Some trolls had fallen silent, but others found the goldblood’s proposal provocative:  _ungrateful, impossible, nonsense…_  
  
Finding her stride, the leader continued confidently. “As the Delegation of the API, we are the architects of this proposal. We wish to construct a network of communal hivestems where goldbloods can defend, support, and empower each other. Our presentation will explain our methods.”  
  
The leader signaled for one of her fellows to deploy a folded screen, but the Seafarer interrupted her.  
  
“I’ve heard enough. You’re takin’ up precious time while other trolls are facin’ serious problems.”  
  
“ _This_  is a serious problem!” the leader insisted.  
  
“I will add you to the Empress’s agenda. She will speak with you by sweep’s end.”  
  
“Sweep’s end?! But we’re so close!” the despair in her voice was palpable. “We’ve tried everything, we just need an imperial order to start—”  
  
“You’re overstayin’ your welcome!” the Seafarer commanded. “You will speak to the Empress,  _later_! Now, leave before I have you removed!”  
  
In defeat, the delegation shuffled from the room. Gamzee noticed a barely-concealed snarl on TA’s face, more like the proud goldblood he met. Karkat stood, clutched his notes to his chest, and wormed his way out of his seat.   
  
“We have to follow them! Now!” he hissed at Gamzee.  
  
It was a tight squeeze that involved many crushed toes and awkward shoves, but Karkat and Gamzee left the Seafarer’s court and escaped to the hallway. Karkat broke out into a run following the outflow of trolls who either got what they wanted or left empty-handed. They fought their way through the river until Karkat spotted the golden coats.  
  
“TA, you mucus-coated moron!” he shouted down the hallway. The ocher trolls stopped and stared at this short shouty troll accosting one of their own. “Why didn’t you tell me this was why you needed my notes?!”  
  
TA turned, but pointed a finger at Karkat and yelled back. “Hey, no, why didn't  _you_  think to tell me that you sit on the panel of Governors?! You’re like what, five?!”  
  
“I’m  _seven_  and you had better get over here and explain everything before I punch out your hideous, snaggled teeth and use them for typing keys!”  
  
“CG, that’s gross!” TA accused, but he smiled with a gold blush on his cheeks.   
  
The hacker/raver/diplomat conferred with his fellow delegates while Karkat tapped his foot impatiently. Finally, the other five agreed to let TA meet with this shouty troll. Karkat dragged his internet friend/secret dignitary into the nearest available lounge, preparing for an interrogation.  
  
“We’ve spent  _how_  many hours debating culling law, and I’m just  _now_  figuring out you’re part of some Aurelian Lollipop League?” Karkat growled.  
  
“I didn’t want to tell you in case we failed.”  
  
“Way to be a pessimist again, douchenozzle. So when did they make you part of their squad?”  
  
“Sweep and a half ago.”  
  
“What do you even do?”  
  
“Oh no, I’m not going to tell you any of that shit until you tell me what’s going on with you. You’re a wiggler who sits in court! Does MF drag you there as a trophy?”  
  
“Excuse you, ‘MF’ doesn’t drag me anywhere!”  
  
“He dragged your ass back to your hive after you blitzed on soppers…”  
  
“Fuck you! My culler isn’t the Mirthful anyway. It’s the Compasse.”  
  
“No way. Why would she personally cull a random warmblood when she’s responsible for the whole species?”  
  
“My blood is off-spectrum. Redder than burgundy. Since there are no lusii for redbloods, the Empress thought my life was going to be so goddamn hard that she decided to cull me herself. I’ve lived in the amphibiortress ever since I was a grub.”  
  
“Then what does MF do, if he’s not your culler?”  
  
“She culls me in theory, he culls me in practice. Mostly he’s just kind of there.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Gamzee grinned. “As I understand it, the fishy sister is hoping to build some motherfucking goodwill between herself and a certain future Grand Highblood.”  
  
“Future Grand…  _You?!_ ”  
  
He smiled wider. “Surprise, motherfucker.”  
  
TA slid his hands up his face and dislodged his glasses in the process. “Holy fuck… You just lay this on me? Now?”  
  
“It’s no worse than what I just learned about you,” Karkat said. “Now, who even  _are_  you? Since you’re more than a bipolar hacker who likes shitty house remixes.”  
  
“Ugh, fine. What do you want from me?”  
  
“Let’s start with your real name, and what the fuck the API is.”  
  
TA sighed. “Alright. The name is Twinhorn, and I am a Delegate. The API is exactly what it sounds like: a group of gold psionics who believe we can take care of ourselves. We want to build a cluster of hives somewhere so we can raise ourselves. Older psionics will cull the younger, who will grow up to cull the next brood.”  
  
“So you won’t help other blood castes?”  
  
“They don’t really need outside help, and neither do we. We’ve limited our scope to gold psionics for now, but if the model proves sound then any other caste can replicate it.”  
  
“Sounds like the motherfucking jadebloods, if you ask me,” Gamzee put in.  
  
“We based it off the jades, but we’re going for something less isolated and… subjugated, if I’m being honest. We want a community of united trolls, built on solidarity instead of conditioned helplessness.”  
  
“So what brought you to court?” Karkat said.  
  
“Territorial allotment offices keep giving us the run-around. The amount of paperwork necessary to be the custodian of imperial land is apeshit bananas, and every step of the way, they keep redirecting us to branches that tell us to go back where we came from. We know they’re sending us through recursive bureaucracy loops on purpose.”  
  
“As goldbloods, they don’t expect you to live long enough to justify granting you control of territory. The changes in ownership will be too abrupt when you die, bad for long-term, sustainable use,” Karkat filled in the gaps. “Why haven’t they denied you outright?”  
  
“Because we’re not applying for one troll to manage the land. We’re applying as the API. The land won’t be tied to the lifespan of a single troll. It’ll transfer through the lifespan of the caste.”  
  
“That’s ingenious.”  
  
“It’s unprecedented, too. There’s no law stopping us, but no one will believe its possible. No one wants to take the plunge and approve untested committee-custodians.”  
  
Karkat frowned. “And you really can’t wait to speak with the Compasse?”  
  
“We have to prove culling isn’t the only way to live. Fighting for justice can’t wait.”  
  
He folded his arms and thought for a minute, then said, “The Compasse is going to visit me when she gets back in two nights. I’ll bring you with me.”  
  
“Wait, you just get to  _see_  the Compasse?”  
  
“Basically. She checks up on me to see if I’m happy and shit. I’ll introduce you as my friend and you can tell her about the API. She might not make a decision, but you’ll jump up her priority list if she can associate your cause with a name, a face, and her precious treasure.”  
  
“Seriously? You’d do that for me?”  
  
“You gave me two great wriggling day presents, didn’t you?”  
  
Twinhorn started to laugh. “CG, you are a fucking riot. Literally, you’re a mob of deranged trolls breaking shit and thirsting for blood.”  
  
“If that’s what it takes, I’ll be a riot,” Karkat offered his hand to Twinhorn, and they shook.  _His first back-room political deal._  Gamzee felt kind of sourly proud.  
  
“So do you have a name other than CG? I can’t go to the Compasse and call you by your troll tag.”  
  
Karkat puffed up his chest. “I am the Chimeric.”  
  
“Dude, you’re  _seven._ ”  
  
“Still the Chimeric.”  
  
“I wouldn’t get your argue on at him too hard,” Gamzee said.  
  
“What, do you call him the Chimeric?”  
  
“I mostly call him ‘little bro,’ but so long as he says he’s the Chimeric then motherfuck, I say he’s the Chimeric.”  
  
Karkat smiled a little, like he was saying ‘thank you.’  
  


* * *

  
Twinhorn’s presence shocked the Compasse at first, but once Karkat introduced him as a friend everything calmed down. After a few minutes of small talk—where to Karkat’s fury, Twinhorn learned his hatch name—he got the chance to make his case. Smartly, he kept focused on the beauty of his argument; where someone like Karkat would want to hear about BUOY empowerment, he instead emphasized efficient, harmonious living and a kinder world to the Compasse.  
  
“This is tremendously clever,” the Compasse said. “How much more work needs to be done?”  
  
“We could begin construction tomorrow if we had territorial jurisdiction.”  
  
“That soon?”  
  
“Plans for this community have been ready for sweeps. All we need is an imperially sanctioned corner of the planet to call our own. No one is willing to give it to us. No one thinks we deserve a chance.”  
  
The Compasse thought for a minute. “I would like to know more details. Do you have a proposal?”  
  
Twinhorn slid a small grubdrive to the Compasse. “If you want it presented in person, the Delegation is at your command.”  
  
“I’ll review this in the next few nights and meet with your representatives next perigee, if you find that amendable. The only concern I have is for a fail-safe. You’re hoping to populate the commune with two thousand golds?”  
  
He nodded, and the Compasse folded her hands, the pose of a Queen about to decide.  
  
“Under traditional rules, that would require the supervision of several hundred cullers. Let me assign a single blueblood instead. I know just the Guardian for the job, a veteran known for his kindness and strength. If your proposal goes according to plan, his services will not be necessary. I simply don’t want to leave two thousand of my subjects to suffer if catastrophe strikes.”  
  
“The API agrees completely.”  
  
“Then, it’s been a pleasure, Delegate Twinhorn.”  
  
“Likewise, your Radiance.”  
  
They both stood to shake, and both their hands lingered, though Gamzee couldn’t tell who stayed longer.  
  
When he departed, the Compasse turned to Karkat. “Now, Karkat, you should know better than to bring trolls from court into our conversations.”  
  
“What are you accusing me for? This is the first time I’ve done this.”  
  
“This is because you disagreed with the Seafarer, isn’t it?”  
  
“The Seafarer represents your positions faithfully. I’ll give him due credit, whether I like him or not. But he snubbed the Delegation because he’d never seen a case like theirs before. They at least deserve a chance.”  
  
“It worries me that the mission is hemoexclusive,” the Compasse said. “What would happen to other trolls like yourself that don’t fit in the spectrum? There would be no organization for you.”  
  
“I would consider the API superior to traditional culling, but it has unfortunate implications for the whole hemospectrum; for instance, their attitudes regarding inter-caste relations could accidentally perpetuate the belief that psychically gifted warmbloods are simultaneously superior to other of the same caste and deserving of extra protection,” Karkat said in a single breath. “Nevertheless, I believe the API is a step forward. A victory for any, even a group you are not part of, is a victory for all. There will still be plenty of justice for those who are presently excluded, so long as we don’t silence them. In the meantime, empowering ocher psionics will set precedents for other-colored psionics and differently-abled ochers.”  
  
The Compasse laughed a little, and it sounded more honest and natural than previous political conversations. “You’re an idealist, Karkat. I appreciate that about you, I really do. It reminds me there’s always more to be done. Beforus will be perfect someday.”  
  
“I’d rather this place be worth protecting than perfect,” Karkat said. “I promise you’ll only see these stunts from me when you’re dealing with the unprecedented. I’m not going to bother you with a random troll who stubbed their toe and needs an adhesive injury cover.”  
  
“Well, if  _you_  need an adhesive injury cover, you can always ask m—”  
  
“I can always go to an ablution block and find a box of them under the raised aqueous trap,” Karkat folded his arms and—he probably didn’t even know he had picked up this gesture—stuck his nose in the air.  
  
The Compasse smiled at Gamzee,  _Isn’t he adorable?_  
  
Gamzee smiled back, for different reasons.  _Isn’t he a riot?_


	25. The True Nature of Trolls

The API took a back burner as the Eastern drought crisis came to a boil. The Empress departed to assist, seeing Karkat for only fleeting minutes via video call. Maybe it was the camera quality, but she looked in need of all of the naps. For what it was worth, Karkat did not add to her stress, sharing idle gossip instead of political debate. The relief on the Compasse’s face listening to him stirred up something almost jealous.  
  
“Where’s her motherfucking palebro at a time like this?” Gamzee voiced bitterly to Karkat when they signed off. “Fishy sister needs a motherfucker to sass out her shit before it frays her fins.”  
  
“She doesn’t need a pacifier; she needs a viceroy,” Karkat explained. “That’s what her moiraillegiance with the Seafarer really means.”  
  
“Is that the reason she calls Seafarer second Empress?”  
  
Karkat opened his mouth to say something, then shut it and looked away. “Perhaps,” he said, and the topic closed.  
  
The journal Gamzee gave him was seeing use. Specifically after that conversation about the royal fishes, Gamzee caught him writing in the dragon-side back cover, flipped to be the front. Strange, since he knew Karkat had designated the lion as the front cover. But, Gamzee knew better than to start another compromising conversation about it. There had to be some well-reasoned rhyme making him burn the book from both sides.  
  
After five weeks of absence, the Compasse sent a very short letter and a travel itinerary back to the palace for Karkat and Gamzee.  
  
Darling Karkat and Mirt)(ful:  
  
I )(ave no time for details, but we are V-ERY close to a resolution! T)(e Vigilants will deliver t)(eir statements soon, and I want you to witness it, Karkat. Travel arrangements are enclosed. For t)(e first time in a w)(ale, I am SO ---EXCIT---ED!!!  
  
Karkat’s eyes gleamed as he examined the itinerary: train tickets, accommodations, and an edict guaranteeing them mezzanine seats. Though… the departure date was one of Gamzee’s usual holy days. The Compasse must have forgotten. It wasn’t an impressive or important day, but… he couldn’t go skipping those! A future Grand Highblood wouldn’t have his tolerance on for that kind of shit… And giving a single inch weakened the ability for the Grand Highblood to negotiate…  
  
But Karkat looked so pleased. The trip wasn’t for a few days, but he started sorting through his possessions anyway, packing books and coonclothes. So Gamzee drew up a message to the Priestly and did something he’d never done to a fellow minstrelister before.  
  
He lied.  
  


* * *

  
The arrangements of the courtblock were far more divided than the Compasse’s court. The block was a huge round colosseum with a few small bridges permitting entry onto the floor, where the witnesses, suspects, and Vigilants would conduct the investigation. The audience and the Empress stayed removed in mezzanines, with the Compasse occupying a private booth. In preparation for her arrival, numerous civil servants scurried about the sunken ring, preparing the witness stand and a presentation screen.  
  
The mezzanine was packed, a trait it shared with the palatial court. Gamzee went first, mostly so trolls would get  _all_  the way out of the way and leave space for Karkat to slip in his wake. While he was counting seats, he felt a hand tug at the back of his shirt.  
  
“Mirthful.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That’s  _her_!”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“It’s Lawcscale! That troll is wearing her sign! She must be here to lead the prosecution! Oh my god, oh my fucking GOD—!”  
  
Gamzee coaxed his best friend to at least get out of everyone else’s way and sit before continuing to gawk at his legal hero. Once Karkat’s ass hit the seat, the pointing resumed. “There! Right  _there_ , the one pacing!”  
  
He looked, and after a little bit of Where’s Waldoo, he recognized the troll Karkat was seeking. She had sharp, symmetrical horns balanced more sideways than up, hair that ended just above her shoulders, and a pair of square red shades resting on her nose. She walked the perimeter of the courtblock, idly touching everything like she was talking stock of the lay of the land, and the insanity flowed around her like a river around a moving rock. Aides approached her and they exchanged short words. Some gave her papers, which she read before passing them off to another troll, who would read and them and then presumably ask questions.  
  
Overall, Lawscale looked… more demure than Gamzee expected. She never quite looked anyone in the eye or made any confrontational gesture. But despite her elegant introversion, she looked more than a little dangerous, like a water viper just below the surface. Her body language hadn’t translated into her writings or Karkat’s opinion of her, but as far as Gamzee could tell seeing Lawscale in the flesh elated Karkat either way.  
  
Activity in the courtblock ceased the instant the Compasse took her position in her balcony. Rather than in court, which required the Empress’s invitation to begin, the occupants of the lower floor quickly receded and left Lawscale standing in the center.  
  
“Your Radiance,” she began, her attention directed more toward the Compasse’s railing than her face. “Under the provisions of the ninth stature of the Ninth Judicial Act of the present Age of Compassion, I request the opening of a case to investigate possible environmental abuses.”  
  
“Proceed, Vigilant. Please name the abuses," the Compasse replied.  
  
Lawscale started a gentle pace before her Radiance’s balcony. Her voice rang clear and articulate through the courtblock. “Approximately two sweeps ago, Eastern Beforus began to experience an inexplicable and unnatural drought. A team of Vigilants were deployed to investigate the vanishing water, and we discovered a number of peculiar inconsistencies. I have compiled evidence for your consideration.”  
  
She stopped, then waved one hand toward her companions. “I call my first witness, Drillpan, to testify before Her Radiance.”  
  
One Vigilant walked a stout, broad, and rather old-looking troll up to the interrogation podium. He wore worn formal clothes, the sign of a troll who only owned one set, and seemed a generally confused by all this courtly affair.  
  
“Esteemed Drillpan, would you please describe yourself and your occupation for the court record?” Lawscale invited.  
  
Drillpan futzed with the sleeves of his shirt. “I’m Drillpan… I’ve been a tunneler all my life. My culler is Hazesong, lovely olive. She’s been good to me. And I lead psionic schoolfeeds sometimes, just the basics. Like using drills. I’m good at that.”  
  
Lawscale smiled. “Could you describe your involvement in the construction of the hydropurificator system in the upper steppes?”  
  
“Stars, that was…” Drillpan puffed his cheeks, remembering. “That was one of the first jobs I ever did. Seventy sweeps ago. We drilled hole after hole into the Kawa, skimming the heavy pollutant water off the bottom, and then directing it to the plants.”  
  
“By your best estimate, how many tunnels did you carve?”  
  
“Over a hundred myself.”  
  
“And how many of them were directed toward the purificator plants themselves?”  
  
“Half that, I think.”  
  
“Did that strike you as odd?”  
  
“Well, no. See, the other tunnels, they went to a reserve aquifer. For future development, they said, and later they told me it was going to an irrigation project.”  
  
“When did you find out about that irrigation project?”  
  
“We did a second round of tunneling. Some psionics from the first project and me, did a few rounds of holes downstream and connected them up to the aquifer.”  
  
“When was this?”  
  
“Thirty-odd sweeps ago. And another thirty after we carved the first set.”  
  
“And can you describe what the aquifer looked like when you connected the second set of tunnels?”  
  
“Was empty, ma’am. On account of the irrigation project.”  
  
“Sir, there was no press regarding an irrigation project in the upper steppes. The were no announcements, no edicts, no memos. Did you think to investigate whether this project you were assisting with was really in the best interest of the Empire?”  
  
Drillpan blinked at her for a second. “No, ma’am. I… I figured the governors know best. They know what they’re doing with the planet. They live long enough to see it happen. What does some goldblooded tunneler know about running an empire?”  
  
Lawscale nodded slowly, letting his statement sink in. “Thank you, Drillpan. You are dismissed from the stand.”  
  
As Drillpan teetered away from the podium, Lawscale addressed the audience at large. “You may ask why I chose to interrogate a single tunneler instead of perhaps, the architect of the purificators or this irrigation project. No such architects were available for comment, on account of the latter not existing and the former’s untimely demise!”  
  
The audience shuddered at the morbid implication, and Lawscale continued talking.  
  
“Three sweeps ago, the head Engineer of the purificators, Archwing, died of a very fast-acting illness, with indeterminate cause. Quite unfortunate, but culling only protects us from danger, not from fate. May Engineer Archwing rest in peace… and may justice make her eternal sleep sweet. I call next to the stand Margrave Gladsome, to testify before her Radiance!”  
  
The Margrave, carrying herself with the dignity expected of her high class. Compared to the previous witness, her blue finery, while conservative, came across as just a little bit obnoxious.  
  
“Margrave Gladsome, were you aware of an underground aquifer in your jurisdiction?”  
  
“I was not,” Gladsome answered.  
  
“The redirection of pipes I could believe you did not know about, since work on the purificator could disguise their presence, but the aquifer is many miles deep into your territory. Landlocked. How could you not notice someone tearing up the countryside and constructing a water container there?”  
  
“I simply can’t say. I must tell the truth before her Radiance. I won’t lie to make a story sound more conveniently true,” Gladsome smiled.  
  
Lawscale smiled back like a crocodile. “Then we agree, lying before her Radiance is a heinous crime. Let’s see what else you can be honest about, shall we? Do you know of a troll by the name of the Appetent?”   
  
“Yes, I’m aware of him. He’s a deputy who oversees textile production in my duchy, from growth to cloth.”  
  
“Understatement is not an appealing rhetorical device in a courtblock, ma’am. The Appetent is the premiere textile producer in the hemisphere. His reach and market share put every other corner of the globe to shame.”  
  
“Does it now?” the Margrave said innocently.  
  
“Textile production is a very water-intensive process. Did you think to impose water rationing on his business?”  
  
“I imposed rations where I could, but the Appetent has too many imperial contracts to fulfill,” she explained. “He supplies nearly all of our esteemed Guardians with garments and thousands of medicullers with sanitary cloths. His business is too important to the government to penalize.”  
  
“You are right, the Appetent holds numerous culling contracts. Per capita, he goes above and beyond the obligations of his color and resources, and still manages to earn some shiny silver for his trouble. But in a drought this dire, why would we care about couture over lives?” Lawscale let that sentence hang as well, before dismissing Gladsome from the stand and announcing again, “I wish to call a troll whose reputation has already been discussed. I call to the stand the Appetent, to testify before her Radiance!”  
  
The Appetent was a rather handsome troll with elegantly curved horns, hatched with the privileges of blood and beauty, and from the hullabaloo surrounding his business, he acquired wealth somewhere along the line.  
  
Lawscale didn’t speak to him at first. She stood in the center of the room, staring at him through her blank red shades. The light glinted on them like a ray of scathing sunlight. The Appetent tried to meet her gaze, but kept glancing away, checking his timepiece, and waiting for her to speak. The entire courtblock held their breath.  
  
Then Lawscale laughed.  
  
“What’s so funny?” the Appetent snapped.  
  
“That you thought you could get away with it.”  
  
“Are you accusing me before my guilt is proven?”  
  
“Your influence is large, but not infinite. Your lies have come to light. We traced no fewer than six shell corporations and sham culling bureaus to not only bribe architects into designing secret channels for you, but you also authorized the second set of channels further downstream. We already traced the drain of the aquifer too, and it leads straight to your threadfiber plants.”  
  
“That’s preposterous! This accusation is cartoonish at best! Hurting others for selfish gain is not what trolls do!”  
  
“It’s preposterous and  _proven_ , sir. We called in experts to determine whether a previous pipe had been filled, but we found no evidence of that claim. The complete picture is, you piggybacked a subterranean irrigation network on a counter-pollution project. Your tidy profits have correlated with the suffering downstream.”  
  
At this point, the Apperent’s discomfort turned to actual distress. In no time at all, Lawscale had sweat beading on his forehead.  
  
“The only question I have for you now is…” she leaned close to him, and in the silent courtblock her words carried to even the highest seat. “Why? You knew you would only go unnoticed for so long.”  
  
“It was my culling orders,” the Apperent choked. “Millions of tons, thousands of bolts, it was too much for me to handle with my existing resources—”  
  
“I remind you, culling is a system of interdependence. If you reported hardship, a dozen troll would have leapt to your aid! And you didn’t take all those contracts at once; you could have stopped. Instead, you assumed her Radiance would rather see her subjects clothed than alive.”  
  
The courtblock applauded lightly, considering the case closed, but Lawscale did not leave the Apperent’s personal space. “Was it pride? Was it greed? Did you get addicted after a taste of platinum?”  
  
The Apperent suddenly stood and pointed a finger at Gladsome. “She made me! She dared me!”  
  
“But the Margrave is only  _aware_  of you…” Lawscale shrugged.  
  
“She lied! She’s a lying shrew-demon!” The Apperent continued pointing as Gladsome froze. “We were pale when this started! She kept my secret, doctored the blueprints, and once it was done, I got cold claws—and she made me do it, kept goading me, and it all turned pitch!”  
  
“A disgusting accusation!” Gladsome cried.  
  
“Oh, I’ll give them all your letters! ‘You limp-blooded coward, couldn’t steal another gallon, you’ll never go far’  _well, look how far I got! If I’m going down YOU’RE COMING TOO!_ ”  
  
“ _YOU SELFISH TWIT, DON’T YOU BLAME YOUR PUSHY STUNTS ON ME!_ ”  
  
Vigilants flooded the floor to keep the newly revealed black lovers apart. The Compasse, silent so far, screamed for order in the coutblock, banging her trident to command attention. Gamzee chuckled as the court struggled to settle itself.  _More like a party town rumpus now._  
  
Lawscale, unruffled by the madness, turned to the Compasse and delivered her final statement. “The root of corruption has been dug out. Gladsome and the Appetent stand against everything we are as a species: honest, compassionate, and kind. Therefore, I rest my case and await your sentence.”  
  
The Compasse stepped closer to her railing and, her voice clear and true as a bell, announced her verdict.  
  
“Her Radiant Compassion decrees that the case will be resolved thus: Margrave Gladsome and the Appetent will be imprisoned span-terminally for their crimes against our species and our planet! Gladsome’s honors will be stripped, and the Appetent’s assets will be frozen and redistributed to agents I will appoint heal our planet! The courtblock is dismissed!”  
  
Their itinerary didn’t include for any opportunity to meet either the Compasse or the Vigilant, but Karkat didn’t seem to mind. The esteemed Chimeric just clasped his hands under his chin and stared into space almost the whole way back, sighing “oh my god” every so often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: So it turns out Terezi is hard for me to write; gotta practice that because she's awesome and deserves all the fics. I’m also shit at writing mysteries and needed a lot of help from tons of other people. I don’t expect to pull a Hussie and keep pausing you like this: at a certain point I started writing future scenes instead of working on this one because I was stuck. Future updates should come faster.
> 
> Also, anyone who draws Karkat swooning over Lawscale in this panel style gets… idk, love and affection for all time. And a home-baked cookie, if you live near me. http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=6&p=006903


	26. Imaginary Friends

Karkat wrote six letters of congratulations to Lawscale for her performance in the courtblock. He wrote out a normal letter with mostly coherent praise, sent it, and then remembered more details he wanted to complement, so he sent a short addendum. And another. And three more, until he finally stopped the flow. He’d probably tell Lawscale more at a later time, like at his upcoming eighth wriggling day.  
  
“If I invite her now, she should have enough time to find flexibility in her schedule,” he explained to the Compasse. “I’ve admired her work for years now, and I really want the chance to meet her.”  
  
Healed by the resolution in the East, the Compasse smiled like before, enjoying Karkat's ornery company. "It's a good idea, and it could be a lot of fun! But Vigilants usually don't have much time for social events."  
  
"This isn't a random request. I've been writing letters to Lawscale for a sweep now. She knows me, and I know she’ll come.”  
  
This is news to the Compasse. "You've been in contact with Lawscale?"  
  
"Her official address is part of the public record. I send her analyses of her articles and other cases she's prosecuted."  
  
“Lawscale is a very busy troll! She works a full retainer at any given time and is a culler herself."  
  
“My letters are subtle, well-reasoned, hardly qualifiable as harassment. I don't badger her for replies.”  
  
"Has she replied?"  
  
Karkat paused, and his cheeks got a little red. “That's irrelevant…”  
  
"I understand your determination, but if she’s never replied to you, then... She's probably not interested."  
  
Karkat gritted his teeth. “Maybe her response isn’t the point. Maybe writing to her is about hearing her response, and more about practicing to bring my arguments on par with the Vigilants." It was a nice theory, but at this point Karkat was saving face.  
  
“Like talking with an imaginary friend!” the Compasse beamed.  
  
He scowled. "Yes. Just like a mentally deficient pupa jabbering away at an interestingly shaped chunk of feces which it pretends is a real person."  
  
"Don't be ashamed, Karkat. An imaginary friend can be a wonderful sounding board! Sometimes, when I practice speeches, I pretend that the troll in the mirror is my future heiress. I have a feeling she will be both my harshest critic and my dearest supporter, like I was to the previous Compasse.”  
  
"Any heiress following you will have her work cut out for her," Karkat said. “Can you invite Lawscale anyway? Just say her presence is requested at the Chimeric's eighth wriggling day celebration. If she can come, she will.”  
  
"Yes, I can do that... But really, this title you've chosen is so... monstrous."  
  
"It's supposed to be monstrous."  
  
"Why would you want to be monstrous? Don't you want people to like you?"  
  
"I want people to understand me. The Chimeric more accurately describes my life than any other title."  
  
“The Chimeric will make people treat you like a beast.”  
  
"Better a beast than a pet."  
  
As usual, the Compasse could not battle Karkat's obstinance. She just promised to try and invite Lawscale, while Karkat turned his attention to other matters.  
  
He invited Twinhorn personally, but the Delegate couldn’t come. As a final resolution to the Eastern crimes, the Compasse appointed the API to take over Gladsome’s territory. Construction on the hivestem network was underway, but the entire Delegation needed formal training in both large-scale imperial jurisprudence and culling law. Twinhorn claimed to have a stronger foundation in those subjects from his culler, but it still eliminated his ability to socialize. He also had a tremendous number of meetings with the API’s backup Guardian: a blueblood named Trueshot.  
  
Ugh.  _Motherfucking goody shoes twofold._  If Gamzee never saw Trueshot again for the rest of his span he would rest in peace.  
  
With Twinhorn unable and Lawscale uncertain, Karkat expanded his invitee list to include other officials: diplomats, Educators, Guardians, anyone who he had once contacted and would answer. A few nobles remembered him from previous galas where he taught them to empower warmbloods, disguising it as culling advice. Many considered Karkat if not a friend, than an expert. They gladly accepted his invitation, and promised to introduce him to friends.  
  
Reputation. Influence. Politics. Through recognition, the Chimeric grew stronger each perigee. The fact this was still only the beginning made Gamzee smile.  
  


* * *

  
The night he turned eight, Karkat asked to use Gamzee's makeup. With a gray just a shade off of his natural tone, he added subtle shadows to his face to make lines a little sharper, a little older. With a few swipes, Karkat looked like a grayblood adult, the change subtle enough no one could tell makeup created the effect.  
  
Gamzee swallowed a lump in his throat and tried in vain to tell his heart to stop hammering. "Little bro, do you really... wanna look like that? Your face looks so motherfucking older.”  
  
"I don't know, why would anyone ever want to use makeup in order to invoke a specific emotional response from others?" Karkat retorted.  
  
Gamzee bit his tongue. He'd never be able to convince Karkat of the difference between their facepaint in time to make him change. He’s just have to suppress fantasies about a red-eyed, grown-faced Karkat for the whole night.  
  
Compared to last sweep, where Karkat had to hunt down people willing to talk to him, guests came to him with stories and introductions. While just as many others were only there to impress the Compasse or other Governors, a good crowd of trolls cared about meeting Karkat for even just a few minutes. He listened, asked astute questions, told witty jokes, and when people asked, he advised.  
  
At one moment, Karkat placed a hand on Gamzee’s arm. He apologized to his small cluster of listeners, “I’m terribly sorry, but there’s someone the two of us need to greet. I’ll be back soon.”  
  
He ducked away from the trolls and tugged Gamzee along after him. “What is up, my invertibrother?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“There. Near the door.”  
  
Gamzee looked… and nearly snarled. Marquise Prospera had entered the room, pushing a troll in a four-wheel device in front of her. The chairbound troll had impressive horns and rich brown clothes, and sat still and passive as a doll as Prospera moved him through the ball block.  
  
“Who’s that motherfucker?”  
  
“That has to be the Huntsman.”  
  
The last time he heard that name was sweeps ago: the story said Prospera let him pretend he was a ‘mighty survivalist.'  
  
“I’ve heard a lot about Prospera. I want to know more, and I think the best way will be to talk to the Huntsman. So, I need you to distract Prospera. Get her away from her cullee.”  
  
Gamzee grimaced. “Aw, bro, that ain’t such a good idea. Prospera and I don’t got our friendly on at each other.”  
  
“I don’t need her friendship. I need her occupied. Buy me five minutes.”  
  
At this point, Karkat made his approach, catching the attention of the Marquise. Her chair-bound guest did not respond. Gamzee noticed his sign tailored onto the lapel of his fine but ill-fitting suit: a circle with sweeping arms above it.  
  
“Marquise Prospera, it is an honor to have you in attendance. You were missed last sweep,” Karkat greeted. He extended his hand, and the Marquise shook.”  
  
“I don't mean any insult by withholding my presence. My precious Huntsman was ill the last time I received your cardinal invitation, so naturally I couldn't leave him.” She shot a glance at Gamzee. “Surely, as a devoted culler himself, the Mirthful understands my plight.”  
  
Gamzee managed to smile. Unfunny jabs make pretty funny last words.  
  
“Your matesprit mentioned your obligation when we spoke last sweep. This is your first direct culling experience, isn't it?”  
  
“And I wouldn't trade it for aaaaaaaall the treasure of this world,” the Marquise patted the Huntsman's unresponsive head. “My Huntsman is treasure enough.”  
  
Karkat nodded. "Would you mind if I spoke to him for a minute? I'm sure you and Mirthful could find some way to entertain yourselves for a few minutes."  
  
"Kick the wicked shit all regarding that solo culling we do," Gamzee offered.  
  
“But if he starts to fuss—”  
  
"The Chimeric will surely intervene and nab you right the motherfuck back."  
  
Prospera lightly rubbed the Huntsman's shoulders. “Well... I suppose a few minutes couldn't hurt... But I will warn you, he's painfully shy and not all that bright, or coherent, or even responsive most nights. If you get a single word out of him I will be quite  _surprised._ ”  
  
“I will try to pick up the dialogic slack,” Karkat promised.  
  
Gamzee did not invite the Marquise to the dance floor, but instead the fringe, where he could find her a glass of wine.  
  
"How time flies," she mused, swirling her drink before sipping. "It seems as though just two sweeps ago you were at the end of your line, writhing in despair and helplessness. And yet here we are, enjoying one another's company."  
  
“I just can't stop laughing over your opinionations that we're  _square_ ,” Gamzee said. “Like, what the fuck is up with that motherfucking shit?”  
  
“You have me in your debt, rather than the other way around. You don’t comprehend how valuable that arrangement is.”  
  
“You still have me on the fucking hook. If we were square you’d have no power to get accusations on at me.”  
  
“Really, there’s no need to worry! I know  _exactly_  what it’s been like for the last few sweeps for you. We shouldn’t be at each other’s throats, we should be collaborating!”  
  
Gamzee glanced at the invalid Huntsman. The concept of Prospera acting on lust toward a person so thoroughly helpless—he wanted to vomit. “What the motherfuck do you mean.”  
  
“When they’re tiny, they’re soooooooo  _adorable_! My Huntsman was a grub when I first met him. Feeling pity toward such helpless creatures is just evidence you have a pulse,” she smiled. “Isn’t that how the attraction started? Such a tiny creature that clearly couldn’t survive without your assistance?”  
  
He thought about the day more than he liked to admit. Karkat, reading his own story aloud to Gamzee before coontime, then climbing into the slime on his own.  _”Don’t life me, fuckstain. I can climb in.”_    
  
“That’s not it at all,” Gamzee said. “The Chimeric could kick the ass of almost every troll here and not spill a drop of his own blood.”  
  
“That’s twice you’ve used that name. Is he really pretending he’s already titled? I don’t even know why the Empress is bothering to let him title himself. Does he even realize that he’s looking at a lifespan even shorter than a burgundy’s? He’ll spend a sweep or two as a titled troll and then expire.”  
  
“He’s going to do more in those titled sweeps than you’ve done in your entire span,” he said, the words coming out as a growl.  
  
The Marquise blinked, then laughed. “Stars above, were you serious back then?”  
  
“When?”  
  
“Another one of these parties, sweeps ago, the Seafarer was being prissy about whether you enjoyed culling your little aberrant, and you called him your best friend,” she laughed a little louder. “I always thought it was a well-timed put-down to improve your station! But it turns out you  _meant_  it?! How lonely do you have to be to call a wiggler your best friend?”  
  
Gamzee clapped one hand on the Marquise’s shoulder, the most contact he could manage in such a public setting. “You listen to me right now, you unfunniest of bitchtitty nonbelievers… The Chimeric was hatched with revolution in his veins. I have stared into that pyre and seen it grow and endure and be warned now that you can’t keep a fire like that contained. When he spits his wicked truth to the world, you and all your backstabbing ilk will suffer and repent. Are you hearing me, motherfucker?”  
  
The Marquise met his eyes, a little afraid but swallowing it down and leaving her face placidly perfect. “Is that a threat?”  
  
“It’s a prophecy.”  
  
“Interesting,” she said. “I hope your Messiahs aren’t jealous types.”  
  
“Why would that matter?”  
  
“Because to all eyes, you are the first disciple of the Chimeric,” She looked back to the Huntsman and Karkat. “I think we have left our charges unattended for long enough.”  
  
Somewhere between dazed and furious— _what did she mean WHAT DOES SHE MOTHERFUCKING MEAN little bro isn’t my god AND SHE HAS IT MOTHERFUCKING COMING TO IMPLY SUCH A WICKED SIN_ —Gamzee followed Prospera back to the warmbloods. Karkat had knelt before the Huntsman's chair, but the Huntsman remained as passive as ever, mouth slightly ajar and eyes trained on the floor.  
  
"Did you coax him to speak?" Prospera asked.  
  
“Not a word," Karkat reported, still studying the Huntsman. “Have you had his hearing tested? Perhaps he would have more to say if he knew what we were saying.”  
  
“No, teaching him to sign is pointless,” the Marquise took a kerchief and wiped it across the Huntsman's mouth—roughly, in Gamzee's opinion. “He hears fine, and lacks the dexterity to use his fingers for anything. Quite the useless clod, but he's my treasure all the same.”  
  
Karkat stood. “True. A pleasure to meet you, Marquise, and please give my regards to the Benevole. And Huntsman, thank you for listening.”  
  
The Huntsman said nothing. Prospera winked her seven-pupiled eye, and then took hold of then Huntsman's chair to wheel him away. Karkat turned to Gamzee and spoke, fast and quiet.  
  
“It's an act. She covered her tracks, but missed some details.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“His hands. He has thick, rough callouses. There's a tan line at his sleeve too, evidence of hours spent outside. His title is probably truer than Prospera says: he is a real and powerful huntsman.”  
  
“Then what's he doing in a four-wheel device?”  
  
“She's dressing an able troll as an invalid to claim benefits as a culler. She's doing none of the caring and claiming all of the reward. She's a liar.”  
  
Gamzee bit his tongue.  _Motherfucker, I could have told you that._  
  
“I have to stop her. I simply need to find what she's using as leverage to make him play along. If I can remove that then the Huntsman would be free to testify.”  
  
“Little bro, you’re dealing with one of the most dangerous trolls in this room. Don’t go kicking the stingbug’s nest.”  
  
“This is a matter of a troll’s life. If he needs no culler, he should be set free. I won’t accuse immediately either. Another letter to Lawscale might help me clarify my plan.”  
  
One of the trolls Karkat had been speaking with earlier approached again. “Pardon me, Chimeric, would you be able to continue our conversation from earlier…?”  
  
Karkat returned, a fish to his political ocean. When he took his makeup off that night, some of the age stayed, but he didn’t look like a god.

* * *

 

By next nightfall, Karkat sent his letter to Lawscale regarding the Marquise and her culling abuses, and compiled a short list of trolls who could assist the investigation. Gamzee bit his tongue and tried not to let his dread show on his face; if Karkat was really serious about taking her down like a junior prosecutor, that was one problem, but what if Karkat’s investigation inadvertently unleashed the truth about Sundance? He couldn’t warn Karkat without explaining his involvement in her doomed desertion.  
  
Before he could make a decision to tell the truth, an owl arrived outside Karkat’s window the next night. It tapped on the glass and hopped up and down.  
  
“Will that feathery asshole leave us alone?!” Karkat snapped. He approached the window and tried to shoo it away, but the owl hopped again and turned around a few times. “Hang on… There’s a scroll on its leg.”  
  
“It’s a messenger hootbeast?”  
  
“Maybe. But don’t most people use carrier skyrats for that?” Karkat opened the window and the owl dutifully stepped inside and offered his leg to Karkat. He took the scroll—barely a slip of paper the size of his palm—and unfurled it. The owl flew away while he read the tiny note. “This is from the Huntsman.”  
  
Gamzee stepped closer to read over Karkat’s shoulder. The note had inverted lettering, no firm punctuation, and was marked with the sign of the Huntsman.  
  


tHANK YOU FOR CARING, bUT  
dON'T TELL ANYONE WHAT SHE'S DOING,  
i AM NOT ALONE, i AM NOT AFRAID,  
iF SHE HAS ME SHE WON'T HURT  
aNYONE ELSE,

  
“I was right!” Karkat crowed. “He’s an able troll forced to act crippled! We can use this as evidence.  
  
“But the note’s telling you to keep quiet about it,” Gamzee said.  
  
“Of course he’d warn me against her, if he’s being held under her claw. But the deeper issue is this martyr complex. The idea that he can prevent abuse by enduring it is a martyr complex, which is problematically tied to a low sense of self-worth. His life has value outside of his ability to endure some blueblood’s torture.”  
  
“What about him saying he’s not alone?”  
  
“I don’t know what he means by that. He is either referencing a support network or others imprisoned like him..”  
  
“Little bro, I think you’re severely getting your underestimate on. The Marquise didn’t get away with whatever twenty-odd sweeps of culling abuse by backing down when people spit harshness at her.”  
  
“What are you going to do to stop me? You can’t tell anyone what I’m doing without spilling the fart niblets as to  _why_ , so an investigation will open regardless. The only way you can stop me is to convince me.”  
  
Karkat locked eyes with him, a burning dare in his young, angry gaze. Gamzee could feel him saying,  _C’mon. Try and stop me. Hold me down so I can’t hurt myself. Bury me in memories and pap me until I never want to move again. Come on. Do it._  He’s just asking for it, looking at Gamzee like that. Dangling himself over a pit and taunting Gamzee to save him… That couldn’t… would it? Would that fix it? This whole crusade to save the Huntsman was just a plea for help, pacification, and eight was better than six after all—  
  
_No better, NO BETTER, eight SEVEN six FIVE four THREE two ONE no NO no NO—_  
  
Gamzee cleared his throat and tried to swallow down a tremble. “Bro… You know this… politicalegal shit ain’t what I’m about. I suppose you’ve got your think on to the risk just fine… All I really got against it is a feeling that this has got more danger than you think. And… I’m supposed to protect you, y’know?”  
  
“You are singularly awful at doing what you’re supposed to do,” Karkat said. “I’d call that one of your finest qualities, actually.”  
  
Oh, motherfuck, Gamzee had better not blush—but fuck, fuck all of this! Fuck Karkat for being kind, fuck him for caring about trolls and their welfare, fuck him for turning phrases so sweet that Gamzee fell for him every time he opened his mouth.  _It’s no better now. It will never be better._  
  
“Then I’ll stop objectioning you, but maybe get your consider on to the fact this could kill you,” Gamzee turned for the door. “If you need me, call.”  
  
Gamzee retreated to his block and cleaned off his face. The visages of the Jokers weren’t doing much good at keeping him on the straight and narrow. With a pinch of special stardust and a prayer, Gamzee considered his options. He technically still had a favor from the Marquise. Would it be possible for him to use it to make her surrender the Huntsman? With him freed, would Karkat’s fervor die? Probably not—Prospera would just take a new grub and cull that one the same way.  _Fuck_.  
  
But by the magical powers of a thousand totally real fairies, the Messiahs granted Gamzee his miracle.  
  
Karkat got a letter from Lawscale.  
  
The letter came with at least three stamps reading “URGENT” and “HIGH PRIORITY,” and across the back flap she embossed her sign. Quite professional stationary that Karkat could barely hold in his trembling fingers.  
  
“This is her! These are actual words—that she wrote—with her hands—and my god, oh my fucking god, she’s going to help, I know it! We’re going to destroy the Marquise for what she’s done, we’ll free the Huntsman—”  
  
“Maybe you should read the letter before you go making all those assumptions,” Gamzee suggested, hoping Karkat would read it aloud. He was curious to hear Lawscale’s reply too, after all that time Karkat spent talking her up.  
  
Karkat nodded and tore the letter open, dropping and then carefully retrieving the envelope as he unfolded the letter. His eyes darted back and forth across the first few lines, and the manic joy started to fade. It gave Gamzee hope Lawscale had written reason back at Karkat’s scheme.  
  
“Well, what does it say?” he prompted.  
  
Karkat had to clear his throat, but he read aloud,“ _Esteemed Chimeric: You asked for my legal counsel, and I give it now. Do not involve yourself with Marquise Prospera. Do not accuse her, do not investigate her, do not contemplate her. If my inferences are correct, the Huntsman has already been in correspondence with you, detailing similar cautions. Though I know you are a remarkably intelligent troll, you are only mortal and can allow feelings to cloud thoughts, so I will not expect you to take my advice without explanation. At least hold your investigation while you read this letter._ ”  
  
“So she wants you to stop,” Gamzee said. “I’m sensing this wicked  _pattern_  of people telling you to stop…”  
  
“Oh, shut up,” Karkat pouted.  
  
“Are you convinced to drop this yet?”  
  
“No. But she sounds… worried.”  
  
“What else did the lawbitch say?”  
  
Karkat resumed reading. “ _Depending on how quickly this letter reaches you, you may have already acquired insight into the nature of the Marquise’s crimes. To put it succinctly, she is a blackmail artist. With an extensive library of secrets and crimes, she holds power over hundreds, if not thousands of trolls from the amphibiortress to the back alleys. I have been dancing across her web for sweeps now, and while my investigation has borne some interesting results, it has taken much from me. One false move and Prospera could destroy everything I’ve worked to accomplish, and many of my companions in the fight for justice.  
  
“I should mention, this is my first response for a reason. The first time you wrote, you did nothing to establish your identity. You called yourself educator and courtier, then launched into analyses of my egalitarian culling articles with no warning. Then you signed your letter with a title not recognized by any census, so you must forgive me for having no sense of how to respond. Your further letters gave me no more identifying information, though almost by accident, a map of your psyche began to emerge. Somewhere, a well-educated, observant, irritable, and noble troll found my work and deigned to grace it with comment. I almost imagined you as a man on the moon, looking down on Beforan affairs with a critical eye and selecting me to share your vision, which I lack.  
  
“As the reputation of the Chimeric spread—and with some verification from a mutual contact—I found the truth. You live in a palace, your perspective is distant due to chromatic exclusion, and your title is unofficial. I suppose I started to imagine a scenario where our first conversation, face-to-face, would be the night you engrave your title in the public record. But, life rarely allows me to plan for fantasy. Your latest letter read to me like a declaration of suicide, thus I was compelled to intervene.  
  
“This message is not meant to imply you are unwanted. Your involvement would simply introduce potentially catastrophic complexity into the ongoing case. But don’t count yourself out: the change and influence you have wrought as a ‘warmblood-whisperer’ may be more valuable than anything. Your ability to disguise ideas of equality as simple culling advice is phenomenal. By continuing this path, perhaps you could erode the foundation from under the Marquise’s feet. That… and your letters are important to me. I wish to keep receiving them.  
  
Your most humble and ardent friend,  
  
Vigilant Lawscale_ ”  
  
Karkat finished reading. His cheeks were nearly scarlet, overjoyed and embarrassed at the same time. Mostly he just looked like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Gamzee didn’t quite know what to say either. He’d already delivered his ‘I motherfucking told you so,’ and now he just had to let Lawscale’s advice sink in.  
  
“…Fuck,” Karkat squeaked. “She… she really likes me… ‘well-educated, observant, irritable, and noble,’ oh my fucking god…  _fuck_ …”  
  
“Do you need a minute?” Gamzee asked. He half-hoped Karkat would say yes and dismiss him. These overflowing feelings toward having his intelle-crush reciprocated were not making Karkat look any less pitiful.  
  
“I… I’ll be fine,” Karkat rubbed at his eyes, reading the letter again. “She  _read_  them, she read  _all_  of them…” He paused, and looked closely at one part. Under his breath, he muttered, “‘Vision, which I lack.’ What do you mean, I share your vision…”  
  
“What are you puzzling at there?”  
  
“Nothing,” Karkat decided. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. Or anyone. When this many people I care about are telling me to stop, that’s a pretty big fucking clue from the universe that I need to listen to them.”  
  
He left the letter on the table and stepped toward Gamzee. About two seconds later, Gamzee realized what Karkat was doing, and tried to abscond, “Glad you’ve got that settled in your pan, now I think the Priestly wanted my wicked—uh—my wicked…”  
  
Karkat stood right before Gamzee—his head reached his chest now, the tallest he’s ever been—and wrapped his arms around Gamzee’s torso. The minstrelister stiffened, and his heart hammered right below Karkat’s ear, fuck, motherfucking fuck he could  _hear_  that what should he  _do_ … and before he could make a decision about how to respond, Karkat pulled back.  
  
“Thank you for caring about me,” he said, with a small smile.  
  
Gamzee tried to force a word out of his mouth. Anything that wouldn’t sound awful and stupid. The word he got was, “Forever.”  
  
Then Karkat finally let him leave. Gamzee just curled up in a corner of his own block and blasted music through personal earspeakers. It was loud enough he couldn’t think, but not so loud he stopped feeling.


	27. Warden and Prisoner

Karkat’s attentions directed away from the Marquise and into broader accessibility lessons, for some reason. He traded some arts tutors for linguistic experts, determined to learn to speak with as many different trolls as possible. He even made stabs at BSL, and learned at a rate that suggested hours of practice during the daytime. He spent just as much time cultivating relationships, requesting meetings with coolbloods to discuss their culling practices, listen to grievances, and suggest solutions. Direct culling was more rare than a look at the palace would imply: most trolls used culling institutions like supplemental schoolfeeding locations, mediculling homes, or community hives for orphans.  
  
What Gamzee didn’t realize is Karkat replaced the hunt for the Marquise with a new project. Right under the Compasse’s nose, shortly after his eighth wriggling day, Karkat orchestrated a secondary court.  
  
He sent personal invitations to carefully selected nobles in his list of contacts: coolblooded sub-Guardians and bureaucrats from culling services, and then slipped day-of notices to crowds of warmbloods leaving the Compasse’s court, expecting only a few to attend. With cleverly disguised orders for refreshments and a careful ring of documents that claimed the room occupied but never named the occupant, Karkat hosted a salon full of trolls for a small, intimate forum. Gamzee didn’t even realize the discussion was happening until a few nights before the event, when a blueblood made a comment to Karkat about looking forward to hearing him.  
  
“Right, sorry,” Karkat said. “I’ve been kind of busy making the whole thing happen at all. I know I subject you to more politics than you can honk a horn at, but I’d really appreciate it if you socialized with the guests. Help get them comfortable, crack a joke or two, you know.”  
  
“What are you hoping to get out of this?”  
  
“Raising awareness and opening a dialogue,” Karkat answered. “Or, perhaps, a multilogue, given the diversity of trolls in attendance.”  
  
Karkat wasn’t kidding. When the time came for the Chimeric’s court, three dozen trolls filled a room and milled about, awkwardly self-segregating into castes and known relations, where cullees stuck to their cullers’ elbows like leeches. Gamzee split from Karkat and played the clown as planned, breaking ice and representing his caste by not giving a fuck about stuff. Every warmblood he encountered had never been treated in such a way by a coolblood before, without coddling, condescending manners. The coolbloods just seemed to regard him as an idiot, but no one gave him a hard time.  
  
The strangest couple Gamzee approached was a seadweller woman with a cerulean man. He said hello, and the man—with kind, slightly hazy eyes and an artist’s couldn’t-be-asked wardrobe—replied, “Mirthful, your reputation precedes you, and I am honored by your attendance. I am the Dextrous, and this is my cullee, the Mariness.”  
  
The Mariness was looking away; she seemed older than the Dextrous, simply by counting scars, and wore a dress of draped silks, like the Empress’s favored fashion, rather antiquated and nostalgic. The Dextrous tapped her shoulder, and she turned to him, and then recognized Gamzee. She saluted him with a bright smile.   
  
“You’re culling a seadweller?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Mariness lost her hearing in a dockside explosion a few decades ago. I’ve culled her ever since.” The Dextrous turned to the Mariness and made shapes with his hands, exaggerating his expressions. The Mariness watched him, then smiled and nodded deeply at Gamzee.  
  
He wished he had remembered more of Karkat’s lessons. He couldn’t recall the BSL, so he defaulted to dive signs. Gamzee raised his hands and strung together the broken phrase,  _I see you. Okay._  His sentiment, ‘nice to meet you,’ successfully translated, and the Mariness smiled brighter and reached for his hand to shake.  
  
“The Chimeric asked me to invite Mariness so he could practice his signing,” the Dextrous explained.  
  
“Good motherfucking luck with that,” Gamzee said, and the Dextrous translated. The sign for ‘motherfucking’ stood out very clearly like a staccato punch in a flowing melody. The Mariness laughed. Mission accomplished.  
  
After giving everyone ample time to talk, Karkat settled the room into an approximate circle, with trolls seated on sofas and chairs all around. For the first time, Gamzee didn’t watch from over Karkat’s shoulder. He chose a point in the room where he could see his cullee’s face. The conversations continued a little more quietly, as trolls seemed to anticipate that Karkat wanted to address the room.  
  
“Oh, I just thought of the best story,” Karkat mentioned, setting his glass of water aside and gradually drawing attention to himself. He retold the story of when he was first seeking access to the internet and needed his own terminal. He gave Gamzee his due credit, and said the Mirthful put in a request with the Seafarer to get a husktop for him. Then he had the idea to send the Seafarer a thank-you note.  
  
“Now, keep in mind, I am four. A pretty smart four-sweeper, if I say so myself. Certainly had a lot to learn where common fucking courtesy was concerned, but I was reading Educator Greenbow and the Logician. But I was gonna write the Seafarer a thank-you note, so I took a sheet of construction paper and a crayon—” People laughed. “—Yeah, a crayon! A fucking crayon for wigglers who still wear cloth load gapers! And I scrawled across that page in the most Mother-awful writing I could muster, ‘THANK YOU SEAFARER - I LIKE THE PRESENT BETTER THAN YOUR FACE.’ I think I misspelled ‘present,’ too, just to piss him off more. And I could tell, he was  _livid_ , but he couldn’t say anything, or else he’d be rejecting my gratitude!”  
  
By then the attending trolls were roaring, and Karkat laughed with them. Gamzee remembered the situation a little differently, but the sentiment was the same.  
  
“I’m really curious, has anyone else ever done that?” Karkat asked the room.  
  
“What, written to the Seafarer in crayon?” A tealblood asked, and the room laughed again.  
  
“No, pretended you couldn’t do something you actually could. For any reason.”  
  
The room sobered a little. Trolls looked between each other, wondering who would go first.  
  
“Once… I was doing a volunteer deployment with emergency hive repair, after an earthquake,” a blueblood said. “It was raining, and we had been outside for sixteen hours, slogging through mud and sticks… and I told my supervisor I hurt my back.”  
  
“You lied?” an olive gasped.  
  
“When the rain stopped I ran circles around everyone else! I made up for it, I swear!” she insisted.  
  
“Who gives a fuck if you made up for it?” Karkat said. “How long ago was this?”  
  
“Twenty-eight sweeps.”  
  
“And did the hives get fixed?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Did anyone die?”  
  
She paused to think. “…No.”  
  
“Then who gives a shit? So you took a break! I commend you!” Karkat smiled at the blueblood. “C’mon, surely she can’t be the only one in the room with a story like that!”  
  
Turned out everyone had a story. Most of the coolbloods reported pretending to be ill or injured to get out of culling work. Warmbloods said they sometimes faked incompetence to make coolbloods help them. Midbloods—the OJAs, though no jades were present—were guilty of both. Karkat proved a remarkable moderator for the whole thing. As the two approximate halves of the hemospectrum confessed their crimes to each other, rather than devolve into blame and scandal, Karkat mediated between anyone who got a little bit out of hand, keeping everything light and comfortable.  
  
“This is just so ridiculous, isn’t it?” Karkat addressed everyone. “Look at this, you’re good people! Kind, generous trolls! But who here would say that the legal obligation to cull and be culled is one of, if not the main reason, you fake incompetence? Just a show of hands.”  
  
Everyone raised a hand. Gamzee did too, remembering decades of religious-exemption excuses he touted to get out of culling. Karkat nodded and waved everyone’s hands back down. “I’ve been thinking a little bit about why we do this to each other, and why it’s all caste-based,” he said. “Anyone have any ideas why it's all tied to caste?”  
  
“Because you need a big span, to look after someone for their whole span,” an umber said.  
  
“Size doesn’t matter,” their neighbor said, smirking.  
  
“I beg to differ!” another troll said. “You are all now cordially invited to inspect the size of my—”  
  
“Okay NO, fuck no,” Karkat jumped in. “No one is measuring anything against anyone. Everything presently in your pants must remain in your pants, okay?”  
  
The trolls laughed again. Gamzee noticed the Dextrous interpreting for the Mariness, and he used the same ‘motherfucker’ gesture as before. Or perhaps it just meant ‘fuck?’ Who knew.  
  
“I bring this up because there’s actually someone I want to learn from today,” Karkat turned to the signing trolls. “Dextrous, could you please get the Mariness’s attention for me? And would you translate for the rest of the room?”  
  
“Oh… of course!” the Dextrous said, pointing his cullee toward Karkat. Karkat saluted her, and started to sign.  
  
“Sorry to put you on the spot,” the Dextrous voiced for him. “I want to talk—I’ve wanted to talk for some time.”  
  
The Mariness blushed a little. “You’re very kind.”  
  
“I want to know more about how culling makes you feel,” Karkat signed.  
  
“It’s been very nice. The Dextrous is kind. He helped me recover after my accident, and his hive is near a lake so I can swim safely.”  
  
“Were you a culler once?”  
  
The Mariness paused. “Yes.”  
  
“For how long?”  
  
“You ask a lady her age?” the Mariness signed with a scandalized face, and laughter diffused the room.   
  
“No, no!” Karkat added an open-O surprise face. “I want to know that you lived—no, how you lived.”  
  
“Before, I was a captain,” she signed. “Like a veteran navigator for hire, for anyone who needed me. I taught sailors to face dangerous oceans too. I was quite a talented corsair. I waxed pitch for the Seafarer in my prime, but never found the courage to confess. I’ll always wonder which of us was the greater sailor.”  
  
Her hands slowed. She frowned.  
  
“Then you lost it all?” Karkat asked.  
  
She blinked, and hiccuped. “Yes,” she signed.  
  
“Have you been sailing since?”  
  
“I’ve been a passenger.”  
  
“Did they let you helm—take the helm?”  
  
She shook her head. “No,” the Dextrous helpfully translated.  
  
“But you are the Mariness! Princess of the seas!”  
  
“I am deaf,” the Mariness signed. “I can’t.”  
  
“Because you need to hear commands on a ship?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“How did you feel when they took your ships and students?”  
  
Violet tears finally fell from her face. The Mariness flung her hands into a harsh shape and then tucked her hands under her arms.  
  
“Worthless,” the Dextrous said.  
  
Someone passed a napkin to the Mariness, and she dabbed at her violet tears. No one in the room spoke, deferring to Karkat, who waited for the Mariness to look at him again before he resumed signing.  
  
“What do you think of the stories everyone told here?” he asked. “They pretended they can’t help, and acted helpless.”  
  
The Mariness wiped her eyes one more time, then answered. “When I had my hearing, I did it too. I tried to take a night off once in a while. But now that I can’t help anyone… I would give anything to cull trolls again. Things are bad enough, being treated like I’m nothing more than my disability. I keep trying to prove I can do it.” She paused. “No one trusts me to make a difference.”   
  
She made the same shapes as before, ‘Worthless,’ which the Dextrous decided not to say.  
  
Karkat let her rest for a few seconds, then raised his hands again. “The limits are pure hoofbeast shit,” Karkat signed, and the Dextrous blushed voicing it. “You can’t hear, but you understand me. We found a way to speak. They took away everything because of ignorance and laziness. You spent so many sweeps in service of others, and just because you can’t hear everyone assumes your talents and experience have been destroyed. Where’s the logic in that?!”  
  
“Wait, Chimeric,” a nervous-looking olive spoke up. “She can’t cull anyone because… what if she needs to hear someone calling for help? Like… you have to be prepared for anything.”  
  
Karkat switched to his voice as he directed the conversation to the oliveblood. “Are you telling me that with all the technology on Beforus, we could not invent a way for people to create other sensory signals of distress? Pagers already exist, why not a device that buzzes the Mariness if you need help? And besides that, anyone here who thinks it’s too much trouble to invent a system that allows someone like the Mariness to share her wealth of knowledge better raise their hands now, because I will personally drop-kick you into the fucking ocean, and you better  _pray_  the Mariness is compassionate enough to save your ungratefully drowning ass!”  
  
Trolls looked between each other nervously. Gamzee doubted any of them  _truly_  qualified for Karkat’s drop-kick of wrath, but some questioned whether they could earn that same kick for lesser offenses. He glanced at the Mariness, blushing and smiling and about to cry all over again. How long had it been since someone talked about her wealth of knowledge instead of her deafness?  
  
“And even setting that aside, if hearing is truly an indispensable requirement for sailing, why can’t she still teach sailors? Or forget the ocean, why can’t the Mariness help trolls who have survived accidents but lost senses or body parts? Wouldn’t she be ideal to show those trolls that a vibrant life continues regardless? But instead, she’s been shuttered up, given a pat between the horns, and told she must live out the rest of her two-thousand-sweep seadweller span with nothing to do, helping no one, serving no purpose.”  
  
At the end of his speech, Karkat signed another sentence, directed at the Mariness, then spoke his words aloud. “In this situation, what is the difference between a cullee and a prisoner?”  
  
Gamzee could have heard a pin drop. Trolls stared at Karkat, dumbfounded, as he picked up his drink and sipped, cool-headed as his blood was warm.  
  
“Just something to think about,” he said. “Anyone else have something to say, or are we done here? I’ll answer questions after, but if the beautificators come around and find this room occupied we could face some semi-criminal charges.”  
  
A few trolls left, silent and contemplative. Many actually approached the Mariness and tried to speak with her, mostly using the Dextrous as an interpreter but asking to learn some simple signs. Karkat made himself available for comment, and cleaned up the room in the meantime. Gamzee sort of just looked on in bafflement. He’d never considered culling from that perspective before.  
  
 _Do you think you’re a prisoner, little bro? Am I your warden?_  He twiddled his fingers.  _Can a guard and a prisoner feel pale for each other, or is that shit too wickedly problematic?_  
  
The Mariness waited until only she, Karkat, and their respective cullers remained in the room. She signed something the Dextrous didn’t bother to voice. Karkat took her hands, pressed a kiss to their knuckles, and then spoke and signed his response.  
  
“Hail your power, Mariness. Hail your strength.”


	28. The Third Set of Answers

Tomorrow. He’d tell the Compasse that he was pale for Karkat tomorrow.  
  
Small touches, long looks, and sly smiles happened far too often for Gamzee to keep calling them ignorant accidents. Karkat was doing all of it on purpose. Did he know  _what_  he was doing on purpose? Probably not. Maybe something in the way Gamzee deflected him kept inviting Karkat to flirt. Like, the torment of resisting temptation made him look extra pathetic or whatever. At this point, Karkat had an idea in his pan he kept trying to act on and Gamzee couldn’t take it. He should include Karkat in the intervention, just to make it clear this was wrong. During his first pale scare, Gamzee went alone, so the Compasse had to interpret the situation based on his testimony alone. If he brought Karkat along, maybe he could tell the Compasse about how he deliberately tries to make Gamzee pacify him.   
  
If Karkat were there, he might tell the Compasse that Gamzee piled him when he was six.  
  
…Yeah, Gamzee would tell the Compasse tomorrow. Find a few minutes of her time, let her know. He had a crime hanging on his record, but maybe she could forgive it, considering the circumstances and his good behavior since.  
  
Tomorrow. Definitely.  
  
While he waited for tomorrow, he continued to cull Karkat at arms length. He read a lot of pretty shitty books in the perigees he spent trying to just hole up in the corner of Karkat’s block while the little bro did whatever he wanted. Karkat kept himself busy in the silence, and only asked Gamzee’s opinion on rare occasions.  
  
“Hey, Mirthful,” he said out of the blue. Gamzee looked up and saw Karkat staring at a small vanity mirror on his table, his nose inches from the glass. “There’s red in my eyes now.”  
  
That shocked him. He hadn’t noticed any color. “Really?”  
  
“Right here, near the left pupil. I think they’re starting to fill.”  
  
Gamzee chuckled. “Bro, your eyes won’t get their red on until you’re nearly nine. Give it another half sweep.”  
  
“I swear I can see the first fleck!”  
  
“If you say so, motherfucker,” he said, looking back down at his book.  
  
“It’s right there, if you’d just look! Come here.”  
  
Against his better judgment, Gamzee dog-eared the book, stood beside Karkat, and looked in the little mirror. His eyes were normal and young as ever.  
  
“Bro, you’ve got your wicked imagination on to the redness. There’s nothing but grey round in there.”  
  
Karkat leaned closer to the mirror again, nearly nosing the glass. “No, it’s just really small, and hard to see—fuck, this isn’t working.” He turned around, stood, and looked Gamzee in the eye. “See, it’s right at the center! Left eye!”  
  
Gamzee glanced, and shook his head. “Bro, I’m telling you—”  
  
“You’re not even looking! Get closer!” Karkat ordered.  
  
His brain screamed at him, but his heart kept hammering away, crying for a chance to be close to Karkat one more time, just one last time before he told the Compasse. So he leaned close until he was barely three inches from Karkat’s face, heart thudding painfully in his chest. He could feel the young troll exhale, and he stared deep into Karkat’s eyes.  
  
“Okay. I’m closer. And I’m looking as hard as I motherfucking can, and I just see—”  
  
Quick as a blur, Karkat hooked his hand around the back of Gamzee’s neck and pressed their lips together, somehow firm and gentle at the same time. A honk of shock stayed trapped behind his teeth as Karkat kissed him—lips hot and closed and kind and so, so pale. His thoughts spiraled  _please, please, Messiahs please_  but he had no idea if he was begging for them to make Karkat stop or continue.  
  
After three seconds, he found the will to push on Karkat’s shoulder and separate them. He took large steps backward until he bumped into a wall.  
  
“What the—What—What kinda bitchtitty insana-ninja just hijacked your motherfucking pan!?” Gamzee blurted, fingers hovering over his mouth like he was afraid to touch a burn. “What did you do!?”  
  
Karkat rolled his eyes. “Stop spewing melodrama everywhere like a malfunctioning woe hydrant. It’s not like you were going to do it.”  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?!”  
  
He gestured to his chair. “I was sitting there, ruse prepared like the choicest cut of the longhornbeast, and once again you were content to wave at opportunity as it passed! So, I took initiative.”  
  
“Initiative to what?”  
  
“To  _kiss_  you! For the love of romance itself, can we kill the suspense already?!”  
  
_I knew it, I MOTHERFUCKING KNEW IT…_  “I don’t want to kiss you!”  
  
“Liar,” Karkat said.  
  
“It’s true!”  
  
“A troll does not spend as many sweeps as I have studying the forms of romance and then fail to acquire a basic intuition about their presence!” He folded his arms and smirked. “Your pale feelings for me aren’t even the most deviant romance to exist in these walls, in my opinion. The  _stories_  I hear—”  
  
“I don’t feel any kind of pale at you!” Gamzee cut him off.  
  
“Stop treating me like an imbecile on idiot drugs. I’ve thought it over, and it’s okay. I reciprocate.”  
  
This was a day terror. Or some kind of fucked-up night dream. “No… you don’t know what you’re motherfucking saying, little bro!”  
  
“I know exactly what I’m saying. I would  _appreciate_  if you stopped denying the validity of my experiences. All the issues you’re envisioning are completely imaginary.”  
  
“Oh, yeah? How?”  
  
“For one, you’re forgetting that I’ve always been mature for my age—”  
  
Gamzee stifled a yelp. “Don’t go saying shit like that!”  
  
“Excuse me?!” Karkat glared.  
  
“You’re stealing lines right out of an apex predator’s playbook! Mature for your age, more comfortable with adults, motherfuck, how can you think of us and not see anything  _unbalanced_?!”  
  
“I have a thorough understanding of our situation, and I say we stand on equal ground with each other.”  
  
The bottom dropped out of Gamzee’s stomach. “Equal?! You’re  _eight!_ ”  
  
“Don’t judge me by my age! I am an important force in Beforan politics. Trolls across the hemospectrum seek my counsel. And you would reduce my accomplishments to a mere chronological label? You’ve never treated me in such an ageist way before.”  
  
“You wrote the motherfucking book on all the problematic shit on the planet! And you don’t think it’s problematic to shove a centenarian in in your pale quadrant like that, while you’re still a wiggler?”  
  
“You make it sound like I intend to exploit your pale feelings. I expect to be your equal partner. And we don’t have to announce our moiraillegiance tactlessly, but we  _need_  to resolve the tension between us. You know, call a shoveling device a spade.”  
  
“I’m not doing that, none of that secret dark-diamond wickedness, you can’t make me—”  
  
Karkat held up his hands, placating. “Alright, we can tell our close friends. No need to broadcast it, but it’s hardly shameful to have a moirail, with or without a large age and temperature difference. And cullees and cullers become quadrantmates sometimes. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’ll be okay.”  
  
Fuck, how did Karkat make his voice sound like that? That pale-talk made Gamzee shiver, even across the room. He could just surrender and agree with him, let Karkat make a choice with his tactical-political mastery and focus on nothing but that crystal-pale feeling…   
  
Or he could focus on how he could barely breathe. Too shallow, not enough air. Why was this conversation even happening? What had he done to deserve this? What had  _Karkat_  done to deserve it?  
  
“What if… it was another set of motherfuckers?” Gamzee managed. “If a Vigilant said they found a coolblood papping their warm little eight-sweep cullee, what would you say to that?”  
  
“You’re changing the subject,” Karkat said. “Our case is exceptional and should not be judged by those standards. And you continue to view our relationship from the limited perspective of our differences. If you looked for our similarities instead, this wouldn’t feel so strange! Think of us as leaders of trolls, rising political juggernauts, profanity artisans! We  _like_  each other. We care about  _each other_.”  
  
Gamzee couldn’t meet Karkat’s eyes. He rubbed his face—smearing makeup, no doubt, shit—and curled his claws into the palm of his hand. “…Are you really pale for me, little bro?”  
  
Karkat shrugged. “I suppose. There’s no other way to describe it.”  
  
“You ‘suppose?’ What’s to suppose about pitying someone?”  
  
“The way your care for me doesn’t resemble the usual duties of culling. I am fit of body, sound of mind, and safe in residence, so all I need from you is periodic emotional guidance. You were there—” Gamzee’s head started to shake,  _no, no, no_ , but Karkat persisted, raising his volume slightly. “—There when I needed help! When my own feelings were a labyrinth, your presence provided if not a map, then at least a light. And even in cases less drastic than that ‘moment,’ you encouraged me to learn and fight in a world that tells me I am nothing more than a royal amusement. I want to give that feeling back! The feeling that someone thinks you’re more than what they say!”  
  
At this point, small pricks of red tears gathered at the corners of Karkat’s eyes, and Gamzee couldn’t tear himself away from the display of pain every inch of him longed to correct. He choked, “What will it take to convince you I’m pale for you, you prudish dipshit? Why can’t you take me at my word that I want this?”  
  
Gamzee stayed on the other side of the room. He lifted a hand. He lowered it. Karkat stayed rooted too, shoulders hitching as he struggled not to cry. He could do it; he could decide to throw all his beliefs to the wind, do the unthinkable and take this adolescent eight-sweeper for his moirail… But…  
  
He should have told the Compasse yesterday. He should have told Karkat ‘no’ sweeps ago. He should have returned to his caste the day he met the curious little motherfucking mutant. At least if he had confessed to feeling pale before things got this bad, he’d have a chance of being pardoned.  
  
“Sorry,” Karkat said.  
  
“What for?”  
  
“For… flipping my shit at you like this. But you keep dodging me and I’m  _sick_  of it. I know what you wanted me to do with the journal, and I  _tried_ , but it’s not the same. I keep reading past entries and hating myself for being so stupid, and looking at blank pages and hating the pretentious shit I’m going to write. I’m journaling for history’s sake at this point,” He sniffed, rubbed his nose, and fixed his gaze on Gamzee again. “I’m done. This time, we’re going to figure this out. I want  _something_  with you, more than culling. And since we feel pale… then it’s no problem, right?”  
  
Gamzee took the deepest breath his choked throat would permit.  _I’m done, too._  “Alright. You win. But I gotta say some things.”  
  
“What?”  
  
His mind raced to put together a coherent plan. “I am gonna ask you for a promise. Then I’m gonna tell you a truth. And then I’m gonna give you a question. We’re doing it in that order, no backing out. Okay?”  
  
Karkat nodded furiously. “Of course. I trust you.”  
  
Gamzee copied him slowly. “The promise is, don’t talk to me for one night. Twenty-four motherfucking hours of utter silence, just to get our heads all calmed down about this. I’ll shut up too, once I’ve said my piece, and after the silence we can try again.”  
  
“So I have to wait twenty-four hours to answer your question?”  
  
“I don’t need you to answer it. I want you to think at it. Now, do we got a deal? Are you going to give me a night of silence?”  
  
Karkat wiped the residual tears away, then with a small smile, dragged his fingers across his lips like he was closing a zipper. His eyes taunted Gamzee, _Look how much I care about you, just like a real moirail._  Gamzee tried to ignore it.  
  
“Good. Now… for the truth.” He took a few more breaths, then counted to three and spoke. “You keep saying I’m pale for you. I’ve been… I’ve felt pale… for sweeps. But not when you got your precocious adolescence on and started having feels-storms like a wicked hormone hurricane. I’ve been pale since before you can remember. You were three when I first wanted to kiss you. And you were probably younger when the paleness started.”  
  
Karkat’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. His jaw may have dropped if not for his ‘zipped’ lips.  
  
“It’s sick,” Gamzee continued. “It’s a sin. There’s a pedophile stalking around your shadow, but I never did a thing about it… because it’s me. Your teachers don’t know. The Compasse can’t tell. And no one else thinks to look. I can do whatever I want and your only salvation is the odds of you crying ‘monster’ and being believed.”  
  
Gamzee could hear a deep-seated, nearly subconscious fear bubble up from Karkat’s mind: that people wouldn’t listen to him. Every instance, no matter the time or context, when he begged people to take him seriously and they didn’t—his teachers, the nobility, the Compasse—whirled around his mind. It stung to hear Karkat feel afraid, worse knowing he was afraid of Gamzee, but he was this far into the motherfucking shit. Better go all the way.  
  
“Now… with the truth in your pan, my question is, how do you know I’m a good person?”  
  
Karkat’s eyebrows knit together.  _What?_  he heard the redblood think.  
  
“For sweeps, you couldn’t tell I  _was_  a person. You just thought of me as some motherfucker who took care of you. And once you figured out I was a person, you assumed I had your best interests in my pump biscuit. But being pale for a brother and doing what’s best for that brother are two very different things.”  
  
He took a breath, and stepped forward to stand in front of Karkat again. For what would probably be the last time, Gamzee met his sweet, gray eyes, reached out, and caressed Karkat’s cheek with his fingertips. His skin felt so smooth, so warm under his hand… and Karkat flinched.  
  
“I have never felt as pale for anyone in my whole span as I feel for you, my miracle-blooded motherfucker,” Gamzee whispered to him. “But you have no idea whether I do what’s best for you, or what’s best for me.”  
  
Karkat’s eyes showed the horror in his mind. Instantly, Gamzee wanted to apologize, fall to his knees and beg Karkat’s forgiveness for hurting him, but he stayed the course and drew his hand away.  
  
“My silence start now. If you still wanna talk tomorrow, we’ll talk. If you want to talk to someone else… talk. But think before you talk to me.”  
  
He left. After a conversation like that, Karkat was bound to go to the Compasse—or if not the Compasse, then maybe a tutor. Fuck, even the Seafarer, as much as he hated Karkat, would probably love to see Gamzee cast down. He could even write to Lawscale and open a formal culling abuse investigation. Like Sundance said, the scandal mattered more than the truth.  
  
He wanted to go back and apologize. He wanted to explain himself, claim he had been exaggerating; his concept was right, pale and benevolent were two different things, but he never wanted anything than what was best for Karkat. He wanted to see Karkat thrive and change the world and reach all his motherfucking dreams and maybe have some energy left over to cuddle Gamzee before hitting the slime. And he had just thrown so much doubt in his little bro’s pan, doubt about what Gamzee wanted and what he tried to do…  
  
But he had to hold himself to the same standard. Twenty-four hours of silence. So he let his feet take him where they wanted, hoping he could make peace with the deities he had so thoroughly abandoned by next sundown, when this shit caught up with him.


	29. Trust, Dust, and Silence

They said no ‘sleep well.’ They said no ‘good evening.’ Karkat avoided Gamzee’s eye, which he expected. Faster than Gamzee expected, Karkat had mastered his fear response after just a few hours. Whatever he was thinking, it stayed out of his reach.  
  
Karkat went to his lessons. He held held conversations in three languages and BSL. He asked astute questions of his history and sociology teachers. He made insightful points about classic literature. He swore at calculations. He ignored Gamzee.  
  
He ignored Gamzee after the twenty-four hours ended. Maybe he still wanted to think. Maybe he hadn’t decided what to do with him yet. No Vigilants or summons from the Grand Highblood arrived. At least, not yet.  
  
So there was that.  
  
The hardest part about breaking up with a moirail—even if the moirallegiance was never formalized—is that right after a breakup, one needs a moirail most of all. Gamzee tried reaching out to the Priestly, just casually, but their vibe wasn’t right. The Priestly saw Gamzee at his best, at his most mirthful and spiritually in-tune. He didn’t know how to handle Gamzee out-of-sorts. Plus, he’d never be able to confess what had just motherfucking happened. He’d be fishing for platitudinous comfort, which would make him look like an asshole and provide no help for his troubles.  
  
He remembered Twinhorn. Being pale for him had come up in his pan once before, more like a whim or a dream than a true attraction. Letting his thoughts go as he listened to the ramblings of his bifurcated brain would be really nice right about now. But what would Gamzee say to him? Was he even single? Besides, someone who called him ‘iceblood,’ a slur Karkat had probably dragged him across the coals for using, was a bad match.  
  
And then the pool was dry. The Compasse was already in a quadrant, and her moirail the Seafarer would be no help at all. Lawscale was a stranger with a legal obligation to persecute when presented with a crime. Prospera, bound by no law and already privy to Gamzee’s perversion, was a huge bitch. He felt a little sick for considering asking Prospera for help, but consider her he did, even though the last time she ‘helped’ everything got a thousand times worse.  
  
After one hundred and nine hours of silence, while walking to the gardens to meet the Compasse, Karkat spoke. “Mirthful?”  
  
Gamzee nearly jumped. “Yeah, little bro?”  
  
“Have you felt pale for other young trolls?” He said it calm and even, like he was asking what Gamzee had for breakfast. But that could be his angle; if Karkat determined himself an outlier, an exception, he might fall back into traps of thinking he was special, un-judgeable by rational standards.  
  
“What does it matter?” Gamzee said.  
  
“I just want the truth.”  
  
“What exactly is going to change, based on my answer?”  
  
“Absolutely nothing. Whether you tell me or not, the past is unchanged.”  
  
Gamzee hesitated. “Every quadrantmate I’ve ever had was older than me, by happenstance. Haven’t felt any quadrant toward another motherfucker in about fifty sweeps.”  
  
“Are you including me?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Include me.”  
  
“You broke a dry spell of forty. First pale feel in… sixty-four.”  
  
Karkat got quiet again, processing, while Gamzee’s mind caught up to him. He fell for such a basic fucking fallacy! Reality didn’t change, but Karkat’s opinion certainly did, it  _had_  to!  
  
“Did anything change?” Gamzee prompted.  
  
Karkat shook his head. “Nothing at all.”  
  
They walked in silence the rest of the way. Karkat spoke normally with the Compasse, telling her about his lessons, his friends, and the latest law or custom he felt that society needed to open a discussion about. He said nothing about his extended silence with Gamzee, and kept their revelations completely secret.  
  
It started to dawn on Gamzee that maybe,  _just_  maybe, Karkat intended to let him stay permanently. He had no idea if that was a blessing or a curse.

* * *

  
The Priestly did his best to warn Gamzee, talking about wicked excitement rippling from the Biggest Top. Gamzee pretended not to hear; he got letters and a few calls and just agreed with all the words they said at him and then instantly forgetting what he agreed to. The hollow, un-relaxing relief of Karkat’s tacit permission to stay kept him from thinking too much about anything else. Even going to Church was a hassle rather than a return to his roots. Everything was out of rhythm with the rituals and sounds. He was just hoping that taking no action could make this all blow over like a storm cloud.  
  
Turned out, during those blandly agreeable calls, Gamzee had agreed to visit the Grand Highblood. In his stupor, he forgot to inform the Compasse until it was nearly too late, but at that point she had no choice but to let him go for a full seven nights, four spent traveling round-trip and three spent with the Highblood. His goodbye to Karkat had a different caliber than before too: they both knew this would be the perfect opportunity for Karkat to take action and make Gamzee disappear.  
  
“See you soon,” Gamzee said.  
  
“Yeah, have fun,” Karkat responded.  
  
The Center Ring resided in a faraway city, relative to the capital. While most Big Tops Gamzee knew had a single round construction and then divided the center with tarps to create more than one space, the Center Ring had two other Tops attached to it, truly allowing for three main rings, with the one in the middle large enough to hold thousands of trolls. Add that to the network of other rooms for practicing arts, mixing paints, or kicking back and not giving a single fuck, and it all added up to a stupendous carnival that he had dreamed of seeing as a wiggler. Now, he stood to inherit it.  
  
The Grand Highblood met him on the steps to the front door, no entourage or guard, just staring into space and waiting. Gamzee almost forgot that that it wasn’t the way of the Church to travel in packs. Courtly nobles never seemed to go anywhere alone. The Highblood wore a lot of age under his greasepaint, but the old shell of his body held a furnace of celestial fucking wisdom Gamzee had held in esteem for decades. Half of him still felt that respect for this troll and what he had done in his seven hundred sweeps of sitting so grand and high. The other half wondered what it all amounted to in the end.  
  
“Grand Motherfucker, what can this wicked-ass brother do for you?” Gamzee asked in greeting.  
  
The Highblood blinked and smiled at Gamzee. “I got some shit that needs shooting and not a brother to shoot it with. Can you get me some help onto that?”  
  
Well… that didn’t sound so bad. “I think I know just the right motherfucker for the job.”  
  
He followed the Highblood into the Center Ring and back to a cloister, with leguminous sacks for sitting and long walls with old stains from the paintings of past minstrelisters. A row of blown-glass hearts filled with blood rested on a low table in the center, available if wanted.  
  
“Can I crack an icecold for you?” the Highblood asked.  
  
“You got a Twist?”  
  
“Fuck yeah I got a Twist.” The Highblood passed Gamzee his green elixir and sat. “You got the couraudacious paint. A choice joker.”  
  
“Been trying it out,” Gamzee chose a bean chair next to him. “The amphibiortress is a shitshow most nights, a real desert of the Frenzied.”  
  
“That’s the Vast Joke right there. All these fuckers ducking their skulls and running from the wicked truths to come,” the Highblood snapped open a Faygo Grape and drank.  
  
“Preach it,” Gamzee toasted.  
  
“Hear you’ve been at court, yeah?” the Highblood said.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“How often?”  
  
“Few times a week. Boringest, most unfunny part of my asshole night. The whole thing is just so wickedly stupid.”  
  
“I get it, brother. No need to lay it on so thick,” he said. “You talk to trolls at court?”  
  
“Barely. Practically never.”  
  
“But sometimes.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“So you talk to trolls at court.”  
  
“…Yeah.”  
  
“What do you talk about?”  
  
“We just shoot the shit, like you and I are doing right now. I bring my jokes, they bring their laughs, but that’s all that motherfucking happens. Just a conversation, like lots of motherfuckers have to get their wicked rapport on.”  
  
“I get it, brother! You’re just spinning your one-wheel device with all this mouth-noise that don’t mean anything.”  
  
“Shit… sorry.”  
  
“Sounds like there’s something else going on here, brother,” the Highblood said.  
  
Gamzee studied his elder for any sign that he was ‘onto something,’ probing Gamzee for an answer he already knew. “Oh?”  
  
“You just seem so wound tight to me. Something going on in your superstition ghost. Been hearing whispers about you not being the same brother we sent out.”  
  
“I mean, I’m not the best motherfucker to know if my self has motherfucking changed,” Gamzee stalled. “Think you can tell me where the problem is coming from?”  
  
“I got some glow bubbles popping in my pan about it,” he said. “Maybe if you could tell me the noise about why you gotta defend yourself against a motherfucker who bleeds your blood, then I’d get some more sophistication to my ideas.”  
  
Gamzee took a deep breath. “It’s mostly shit about how… the fishy sister has been expecting me to change, since I got to her palace.”  
  
“What’s the scheming fishbitch up to?”  
  
He winced at that insult. Even though everyone was ‘motherfucker’ to him, the slur stung this time. “A few sweeps after I got to the palace, the fishy sister told me she wanted me culling her ward because she had her hope on that the next Grand Highblood, being me, would be more amendable to making the caste do their culling if he had been a culler his wicked self. Like culling the little grub would just fill me with righteous compassions and put me on her side.”  
  
“Did she succeed?”  
  
“Ehhh…” Gamzee wobbled a hand. “She’s wrong that I’m gonna cull anyone after the Chimeric. I can’t see myself making any other motherfucker do their culling either. But I’m trying to be loyal and truthful at the same time.”  
  
“What do you mean by that?”  
  
“The Compasse is no fishbitch. She’s ruling best she can, and doing a good job if you ask me. I don’t wanna speak ill against her like most other motherfuckers do. But I don’t want giving her some wicked-ass props to get mistaken for agreeing with her.”  
  
“So what does that leave us with?”  
  
“I’m just trying to say that, so maybe I’m different, but I’m not changed as much as you say I am,” Gamzee played it cool as he could.  
  
The Highblood kept nodding. “Alright. So does the Compasse bring you to court?”  
  
“Nah, that’s for the little bro.”  
  
“Why’s the little bro in court?”  
  
“He wants to learn how politics work. He’s pretty wicked good, if you ask me,” Gamzee said. “Chimeric wants to prove warmbloods don’t wanna be culled. He’s doing it all right and legal, getting support from real motherfuckers he talks to and digging through all the dusty books for legal shit that supports his crusade. You ever hear of Lawscale?”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“The API? Institute for motherfucking psionics. First group of warmbloods to rule a territory.”  
  
“Never heard of those motherfuckers, either.”  
  
 _Shit._  “Well, they’re… doing some shit around the palace. The little bro is working with them to change things. Set new precedents that our brothers might be able to use.”  
  
“Precedents?”  
  
“New rules for who really needs culling. Warmbloods can support themselves more than coolbloods think. Either they just don’t need culling or they can cull each other, warm-on-warm. So if that all comes to pass, our brothers can use those laws to live free from the distractificating nonsense of culling for millennia to come.”  
  
“Still waiting for the motherfucking point,” the Highblood tapped his fingers on his soda bottle.  
  
“Might be a good idea to support the Chimeric. Make a statement or some other motherfucking thing.”  
  
“What support does the motherfucker need?”  
  
“He’s working in secret right now. Lots of coolbloods like what he’s saying, but our fishy brothers and sisters might think it’s some kinda heresy up in the bitchtits. Sorta… thinking ahead here. For if the motherfucker needed sanctuary in the Big Top someday.”  
  
“Sanctuary,” the Highblood repeated. He took a big swig and propped his feet on the table.  
  
“He’d fit in, for a few nights at least,” Gamzee kept running his mouth. “Motherfucker is the funniest shit you ever met. A real modern gladiator. Could put a ring full of miracle artists to shame when he swings his sickles! And he gets the Wicked Word in a way no warmblood ever did. Like he got right into the blood pusher of this faithful body and understands why it beats. Our color has picked less funny allies through the sweeps.”  
  
The Highblood nodded very slowly. “I think I’m seeing where the problem is.”  
  
“Is it the Chimeric?”  
  
“No. Still you.” The Highblood drank again and belched.  
  
“Then what the motherfuck is wrong with me?”  
  
“You’ve gotten…  _worldly_ ,” he whispered that last word. “I picked you for heir because I looked at your soul and saw it resonating along with a most blessed frequency. You got that deep connection to the Messiahs, and you can guide us to reach their Dark Carnival. But your resonance feels off, my brother. I don’t wanna say this is some corruption, but it’s a motherfucking problem, you feel?”  
  
“I feel it,” Gamzee said. “But what am I supposed to do to get it all in-tune again?”  
  
“See the Chimeric for what he really is.”  
  
“What is he?”  
  
“ _Dust_ ,” the Highblood answered, hissing still. “He’s dust, and the Compasse is dust, and you’re dust, and I’m dust, it’s all motherfucking  _dust_. We will die and then die a second death and make our way to the Dark Carnival so whether you cull every warmblood or none of them, whether you follow the Compasse or say ‘fuck her,’ whether you think the Chimeric is a gladiator or an apostate, everything is dust. I thought you knew that.”  
  
Gamzee stared at the lounging Highblood, and the Highblood stared back. “Worldly,” the old troll repeated. “We gotta get you out of the worldly space. Back into the Carnival.”  
  
“Treaty says I’m stuck with the Chimeric until he dies,” Gamzee said.  
  
“The treaty is dust, too. Exactly how far from his titling day is your obstinately pre-titled motherfucker?”  
  
“Sweep and a half.”  
  
“It’ll take about that long to finalize a new sheet of proper-ass paper with the Compasse. I’ll set the demand that we get you back the night after the Chimeric’s titling day, and I’ll bend my horns until the fish agrees. Gotta get you among your brothers again. Out of the world.”  
  
Out of the world. Away from Karkat. He should be weeping with gratitude for his salvation, thanking the Messiahs for escape from the sin and the hurt. But instead dread reared up— _don’t take this away from me._  
  
He tipped his Faygo upside-down and chugged while the sugar and fizz burned his throat. The Highblood prompted, “Are you feeling me still, fucker?” Gamzee drained the bottle and chucked it in the corner.  
  
“It’s all wickedly clear,” Gamzee said. “But I’m curious as to whether or not the previous Grand Motherfucker was this strict at you.”  
  
“He didn’t need to be. My grand highness began during the previous Age of Compassion. I took the Center Ring, then watched the Compasse drift into the motherfucking Deep Abdication so some wiggler could declare herself radiant. And she started pushing around us motherfuckers who had seen centuries more than she had, thinking she knew how to run the world… Now look where we are.” The Highblood stood, set his Faygo aside, and dipped one hand in the burgundy blood, and the other in the violet. “The only thing on this dustball that matters to you is playing your part to deliver us onto the Dark Carnival. Never forget that.”  
  
Gamzee answered, “I won’t,” because what the fuck else was he supposed to say? He watched the Highblood smear paint on the wall in a design that might have made sense to him ten sweeps ago, but now just looked like smears and pointlessness.


	30. Harsh/Whimsy

“You can’t be serious,” the Compasse said. “He sealed a treaty! We both expected it to stay valid for at  _least_  a century! I gave him the most generous terms possible, what more does he want?”  
  
Gamzee shrugged. “The Grand Highblood don’t answer to any authority other than the Messiahs. He’s thinking my presence at the Church is a motherfucking must, culling or not.”  
  
“But you can’t just leave Karkat like that! He needs you!”  
  
“Needs me to what?”  
  
“Protect him, of course!”  
  
“The Chimeric can take care of his motherfucking self.”  
  
“But his mutation, he can’t—”  
  
“The little bro is wicked smart, and you haven’t seen how strong he got, too. Subject him to the maddest of rigors if you need proof, but Karkat hasn’t needed me for sweeps. He can toe to toe with any wicked thing that wants to hurt him and win,” Gamzee interrupted her. “Take this as an opportunity. Highblood knows he’s going back on his word, so you could make all kinds of motherfucking demands of him.”  
  
“This is insane,” the Compasse said. “Has all of this meant nothing? Don’t you want to stay and see it through?”  
  
“It means a lot. Church just means more. Long-term-wise.”  
  
“What are you going to tell Karkat?”  
  
Gamzee managed another shrug, but his shoulders tensed. “The same thing I’m telling you.”  
  
Even though the situation was just that simple, he stalled for days. Gamzee and Karkat rarely spoke since their confrontation. Everything about Karkat’s body language and behavior radiated “stress” to Gamzee, and he knew he had to be returning those signals. Neither of them knew what to say about it. Gamzee tried dozens of times to open the conversation, but lost the nerve each time.  
  
“Mirthful, are you incapable of speaking honestly with me anymore?” Karkat accused four days after his return.  
  
“I’m still honest with you.”  
  
“There’s a difference between spilling your feelings and informing me about something that is obviously relevant to my needs or interests. Something happened when you visited the Grand Highblood.”  
  
“Lots of things, yeah.”  
  
“Anything relevant to me?”  
  
“Sort of…”  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
Gamzee finally spilled it, staring at his shoes. “Highblood wants to break the treaty. Re-negotiate. Bring me back to the Church before I’m due. Before… yeah.”  
  
The news felt viscous and clammy in the air. What was Karkat going to say? If he knew Gamzee had a new time limit, did that change anything about his decision to blow the whistle on him as a grub-piler?  
  
“Why?” Karkat asked at last.  
  
“Says I’m… too worldly. Can’t be a proper brother if I’m worldly.”  
  
“What evidence does he have of your worldliness?”  
  
“The way I’m in politics, and wicked shit like that,” Gamzee scratched behind an ear. “I know I’m not involved, but sticking around it changes a motherfucker’s perspective.”  
  
“So it’s because of me.”  
  
“No, no—”  
  
“It is. I dragged you into that sphere, which means the Highblood has a problem with me, not you. Don’t encase it in sucrose.”  
  
Gamzee chuckled, almost involuntarily. Karkat and the Grand Highblood had the exact same tolerance level for bullshit. “I guess you could frame it that way. He has a problem with what your politics do to me.”  
  
“Does he know… the rest of it?” Karkat implied.  
  
“Maybe it’s part of why I’m looking so worldly to him, but I don’t think he knows.”  
  
“Do you want to leave?”  
  
 _Never, never, never, I know it’s all shattered between us but I still want to follow you—help you—stay with you—_  
  
Karkat nodded at nothing in particular. “The Highblood wouldn’t care for an audience with the Chimeric to discuss this, would he?”  
  
“Nah. He doesn’t listen to any motherfucker, no matter how important.”  
  
“How tyrannical,” Karkat quipped. “When does he want you back?”  
  
“Your titling day. He’s gonna argue once you’re an adult you won’t need a culler.”  
  
Karkat nodded again. “Okay. Now was that so hard to tell me?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He felt Karkat’s impulse to ask ‘why,’ but he caught it and held it back. He probably understood already.  
  


* * *

  
A few perigees after negotiations began—where the Compasse started to regard Gamzee with this  _nothing is your fault but you are REALLY annoying me right now_  expression—Karkat brought up a completely different situation involving a purpleblood.  
  
“I’ve been invited to my friend Mileko’s titling day,” Karkat informed her.  
  
“Mileko… Since you know their name, this can’t be a friend from the Internet,” the Compasse teased.  
  
“We met sweeps ago, when the Mirthful took me to Church. He was the only other wiggler there roughly my age, and we’ve stayed in contact… sporadically.”  
  
“That’s so exciting! Has he selected his title?”  
  
“He’ll join the ranks of the minstrelisters as the Mellowed. It’s an ideal title for him. The party is in about three perigees, so that should be plenty of time to give notice to my tutors.”  
  
“Who will be there?”  
  
“His religious peers, almost exclusively. Depends on whether he and Ilaida are still matesprits, apparently they’ve been on and off for a sweep. Their ages should range from other nine-sweepers to about… fifteen, I think.”  
  
“Where will you be going?”  
  
“He hasn’t decided yet.”  
  
The Compasse nodded. “Since Mileko is a believer, then the chances his party will be during one of the Mirthful’s holy days is low. He’ll be able to escort—”  
  
“No. I want to attend on my own,” Karkat said. “This is Mileko’s titling day! He’s trying to cut loose before assuming adult responsibilities. How awful would it be to have a religious authority follow you on your titling day?”  
  
“That’s out of the question. You need protection.”  
  
“I’ll be among at least five purplebloods. What are the chances of loyal purplebloods letting the future Grand Highblood’s cullee come to any harm? The Mirthful’s presence isn’t necessary for me to benefit from his protection.”  
  
The Compasse pursed her lips, like Karkat was also annoying her and she couldn’t do anything about it. “I’m not signing off on this. I’ll need more information about who else is attending and where you’ll be going.”  
  
“We can’t go far. It will only last one night,” Karkat said. “But I’m glad you reminded me, because I was thinking about other places where it’s a terrible inconvenience to force the Mirthful’s attendance. Does he really need to follow me to court?”  
  
“Of course!”  
  
“I sit close enough to you for your personal security to extend to me as well. Unless  _you_  need the Mirthful there for additional protection, there’s no reason for him to take up valuable space. He’s not there to volunteer his resources or become a better courtier, and there are dozens of better uses for his time. It’s hardly fair I’ve been dragging him after me for sweeps. He’s earned a few hours off.”  
  
“One revolution at a time! Why are you so insistent on separating yourself from the Mirthful?”  
  
“Because I heard rumors that his treaty is being re-negotiated, and we may be separated whether I want him gone or not. We should preemptively address and unravel any dependency.”  
  
Gamzee should really stop being surprised when Karkat says and does things that blindside him. What did Karkat mean by all of this? When he said he was ‘unravelling dependency,’ did he mean Karkat’s dependency on Gamzee, or Gamzee’s on Karkat, or both?  
  
“Well… we’ll discuss that later,” the Compasse said, and this time she closed the topic. When they bid the Compasse farewell and started the walk to Karkat’s next lesson, Gamzee spoke up.  
  
“Care to be honest with me, too? Denial of diamonds here.”  
  
“How much honesty, and on what subject?” Karkat asked.  
  
“What did you mean back there, by dependency?”  
  
“What is there to explain? We’ve never spent longer than one week separated from each other since we met. I don’t know how our separation will affect either of us, and I’m not interested in quitting cold gobblebeast. Does that make sense?”  
  
Gamzee chewed his lip and nodded.  
  
“I want to give you time to practice your miracle bullshit, too. Prayers, raps, stunts. It’s become obvious that according to the Church, your skills are no longer up to snuff. You need to practice to become the Grand Highblood.”  
  
“I get what you’re saying, but that’s not gonna help. A motherfucker like me can never expect to sit grand and high, no matter how good my devotions are.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“You know why.”  
  
“‘That’ disqualifies you?”  
  
“Yeah. Just haven’t gotten around to telling the motherfuckers. Thinking I can scout a new heir before I do.”  
  
Gamzee could see gears clicking behind Karkat’s grey eyes. “Then, forget the institutional Church. Do you still believe in the Testament? The Carnival and the Messiahs?”  
  
“Fuck yeah.”  
  
“So the question is less about molding yourself into a facsimile a Highblood’s heir, and more about remembering what your faith meant to you in the first place.”  
  
Gamzee looked at the ceiling as it passed over his head. To feel comfortable in his skin again, to know this feeling of understanding nothing is downright hilarious, to get back in line with all the miracles… “You got that part right, my brother.”  
  
“Alright then. I want to give you the time and space necessary to reconnect with that. If you need me there or need me gone, I don’t care, I’ll do it. And before you do a gymnastic fucking circumduction off the handle, you’ve seen me offer this same advice to dozens of trolls in my personal court. Recommending they focus on beliefs and skills not recognized by institutional culling? Sound familiar?”  
  
He laughed. “My shit just got a trademark Chimeric thrashing, didn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah, you’re fucking welcome. That’ll be four hundred and twenty caegar.”  
  
“Have you been charging motherfuckers for advice?” How did he manage to collect without Gamzee noticing?!  
  
“Some nobles are so overwhelmed with gratitude they slip me silver and trinkets,” Karkat explained. “But you’re not my accountineer, so you unauthorized to see my books.”  
  
“Aw, not even for the most wickedly strict slam poem?” he teased.  
  
“Not even if all the angels of hell serenaded me with a punctilious, poetic symphony.”  
  


* * *

  
Eventually, the Compasse gave up. On this matter, it was easier to agree with Karkat and make him shut up. Not only did Karkat win the privilege to celebrate Mileko’s titling day without escort, but he earned Gamzee permission to decide for himself if he wanted to follow Karkat to places where he had other supervision. Court, lessons, and meetings with the Compasse were totally optional now.  
  
For his new routine, he skipped court and the more boring lessons, but he stuck around with Karkat’s language classes. He liked the feeling of not knowing what anyone was saying and trusting miracles to help him understand what mattered. He stayed part of Karkat’s secret court too, since he loved watching Karkat work his spectrum-spanning magic, and lots of entertaining motherfuckers dropped by. Other than that, he spent the spare hours on meditations and miraculous arts, from slam to his favored juggling clubs. Coming at the faith from the perspective of someone who had never seen it before drew out miracles he had taken for granted. Just like Karkat said, it helped.  
  
By the time Mileko’s titling day came around, Gamzee felt at least like he could breathe after sweeps of stress and secrecy. He watched, chill as an icecold, while Karkat prepared for that night. The mutant’s style had evolved to use red as a foundation rather than an accent. With his title and reputation, he shed his hemoanonymity and dipped his words and wardrobe in scarlet. He chose tailored but simple clothes for Mileko’s titling day: a red turtleneck, some black pants, simple boots with strong tread. He looped his sickles across his back, too.  
  
“What are you gonna do with those?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“We all prepared acts for the Mellowed. I’m gonna show off.”  
  
He slid his sickles from their loops and spun them around his wrists. They stayed tight to his skin like a contact juggler’s orbs. Gamzee let out a low whistle.   
  
“Show him what you’re made of, little bro.”  
  
Gamzee saw Karkat to the street, where Mileko—the Mellowed—and six other trolls had two roofless four-wheel vehicles waiting. Karkat would be their eighth guest, while blueblood with short hair, probably the matesprit Karkat had mentioned, was the only other nonbeliever.  
  
“Mirthful!” the troll of the hour waved a hand, stepping away from the cars. The Mellowed was still unnaturally skinny, but now stood an inch taller than Gamzee. “It’s been…  _sweeps_ , man… Wicked shit, dude.”  
  
“Congratulations, motherfucker, getting to your tenth sweep with your meat sack intact,” Gamzee hugged the Mellowed and clapped his hand on his brother’s back as hard as he could. The Mellowed coughed in shock, but chuckled.  
  
He razzed the Mellowed’s hair as Karkat clambered into the back seat of a vehicle. He checked the return time with the Mellowed, then waved goodbye as the topless vehicles drove away. Taking the whole night for himself was pretty easy, like a mini-vacation. He practiced some acts, kicked back with the wicked elixir, and slammed with the Priestly over the web. He only thought about Karkat a few times, and trusted he was doing well.  
  
At the return time, Gamzee wandered out to the asphalt automobile circuit to meet them. The two roofless vehicles meandered down the track, blaring music while the occupants shouted along. Gamzee heard Karkat’s impressive volume and saw him throw his fists in the air, swept up in the celebration with the rest of them. He had graduated to the front passenger seat of the Mellowed’s vehicle, if such status symbols even meant anything to purplebloods.  
  
Then he noticed Karkat was missing a tooth.  
  
The party stopped in front of Gamzee, trolls still howling with song and laughter. Karkat boosted himself over the car door without opening it. One shoe fell off during his dismount, its boot lace gone. Then Gamzee spied the Mellowed wearing a new necklace: a leather shoestring wrapped around a troll’s forefang.  
  
“What the motherfuck happened?!” Gamzee demanded. Oh, the Compasse was gonna have Gamzee’s horns over this!  
  
“What happened?” the Mellowed laughed. “The best… motherfucking wriggling day… I’ve ever had! Chimeric, will… will your titling… be that awesome?”  
  
“It’s gonna suck every single ball in the universe. So you better come!” Karkat barked. “I need you there to make it  _not_  suck! You feel?”  
  
He reached into the car and clapped hands with the Mellowed, holding on for a few seconds as electric tension passed between them. “I’m counting on you!” he emphasized.  
  
The Mellowed raised his new necklace and kissed the fallen fang, then led the entourage of trolls away with barely a word of farewell over his shoulder to Gamzee. Karkat walked back to the palace, limping slightly.  
  
“Your tooth—!”  
  
“It’ll grow back.”  
  
“Your leg—!”  
  
“Give it a week.”  
  
“You said you were going to be safe.”  
  
“I didn’t  _intend_  to get hurt. But since I was, I wanted to make the most of it. It meant the world to him.”  
  
Old words reached Gamzee’s pan from sweeps ago.  _Ambition and emotion aren’t mutually exclusive._  Karkat pushed himself to the limit—and in Gamzee’s opinion, a little beyond—to further his aims, whatever those were. But the Mellowed really sounded like he had a fantastic titling day, and Karkat had been the one to make it amazing. From the smile on his lips, it looked like Karkat enjoyed himself, too.  
  
“…Maybe I can help you fashion a trick tooth, while you wait for the new one,” Gamzee offered. “An early wriggling day present.”  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
“I have no motherfucking clue what shit to get you this sweep. And it looks like teeth are the hot gift right now.”  
  
Karkat laughed deep in his chest. He always sounded beautiful when the  _whimsy_  in his harshwhimsy got a chance to shine.


	31. Noble eye and Lionheart

When Karkat turned nine, he had flecks of red in his eyes for real. It was probably rude for Gamzee to stare at his mosaic irises as often as he did, but a scarlet-eyed troll was just so  _strange_. The blossoming, hypnotic blaze made it hard to hold a train of thought in Karkat’s presence. He wondered if other trolls felt the same.  
  
This time, Karkat had the strongest claim to saying that he was the main event of his own wriggling day. He didn’t have to introduce his chosen title anymore; not once did Gamzee hear a troll address him by his hatch name. His network brought him new connections not because he asked, but because they wanted their friends to meet him. He was an expert now; each person Karkat met felt like his trusted friend in five minutes or less.  
  
A few guests were his  _actual_  friends. Twinhorn had not confirmed his attendance, but Gamzee caught sight of the Delegate in his yellow knee-coat sneaking up behind Karkat. He nodded to Gamzee and placed a finger to his lips. Gamzee smiled.  
  
When he was in range, Twinhorn shouted in Karkat’s ear, “Happy third wriggling day, CM!” Karkat yelped and whirled around, nearly slapping Twinhorn in the face. He just laughed as Karkat spluttered.  
  
“Twinhorn, you venomous, warty leapbeast!” he spat. “What the hell are you doing here? Leave right now before everyone decides your face is too punchable to resist and my wriggling day becomes a brawl.”  
  
“Oh my god, chill! It’s been two sweeps and this is the welcome I get?” Twinhorn opened his arms, and Karkat begrudgingly—warmly—hugged him.  
  
“I’ve been keeping up with the API. Are you almost ready to populate the hivestems?”  
  
“We’re evaluating applicants now. Did you know they have a numerical scale to determine cullability?”  
  
“The Harmonic’s scale? I thought they phased that out decades ago,” Karkat shook his head, disappointed. “I’ll put you in contact with the Numerary. Between the two of you, you’ll rig that system to be less overtly disgusting.”  
  
“Holy shit, it’s true,” Twinhorn said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You know everyone in the Empire. Anyone you don’t know, you know someone who knows them.”  
  
“It’s called helping people find what they need. This is the only way I can create change in the now.”  
  
“So I’m guessing my wriggling day gift is gonna be spot-on this sweep.”  
  
“If it’s not a bullshit virus then your gift-giving skills have improved exponentially.”  
  
Twinhorn gestured for Kakrat to follow him to the edge of the hall. Two trolls occupied a secluded corner: a straight-haired blueblood with nauseatingly familiar profile and a slouching greenblood with squat cone horns and a sour expression. The blueblood fussed over the back of her dress and tied her sash tighter.   
  
“Sorry to interrupt,” Twinhorn said. “TS, MD, this is the troll of the night: the Chimeric.”  
  
Trueshot put the finishing touch on the troll’s sash and bowed to Karkat. “Esteemed Chimeric, it is an honor. I am Guardian Trueshot. May I have the privilege of introducing you to my cullee, the Mondaine?”  
  
The Mondaine smiled and curtsied stiffly, then said, “It’s a purrleasurr to make yurr acquaintance.” Her accent was peculiar, unplaceable, rolling her r’s extensively and adding them where they didn’t belong.  
  
Karkat smiled, and Gamzee noticed victory in his red-speckled eyes. As touted as Karkat’s influence was, he had never secured one-on-one contact with a Guardian before. Twinhorn had come through. He offered a handshake first to the Mondaine, “A pleasure to meet you as well,” and then shook the Guardian’s hand, “And Trueshot, allow me to thank you for your service to trollkind.”  
  
The Guardian nodded. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. “The pleasure is mine.”  
  
“Allow me to introduce my companion, the Mirthful,” Karkat continued.  
  
Trueshot finally looked at Gamzee, old bitterness in his face. “I am already acquainted with the Mirthful.”  
  
“Oh, ‘acquainted’ is what you’d call it?” Gamzee smirked, unable to resist the jab.  
  
“Wait, you two know each other?” Twinhorn pointed between the coolbloods.  
  
“We engaged in a thoroughly disappointing kismessitude many sweeps ago,” Trueshot explained in clipped tones. “But no longer.”  
  
Karkat fixed Gamzee with a curious and accusing stare. “This is my first time hearing that the Mirthful was once pitch with a Guardian.”  
  
“I’ll try harder to introduce you to all my exes, okay?” Gamzee said. A small part of him shuddered at the idea of Karkat tracking down his former quadrantmates. It could give him ideas about being special again.  
  
“Regardless, I would like to speak with Twinhorn and Trueshot for a few minutes. I have a number of questions I’ve been meaning to ask about the API’s culling criteria,” Karkat brought the conversation back.  
  
“I am at your service,” the Guardian said. “Perhaps the Mirthful could be coerced to entertain the Mondaine?” Trueshot leaned close to his cullee and rubbed reassuring circles on her back. He muttered small encouragements, “Just like we practiced. You can do it. I know he’s uncouth and vulgar but he’s not that bad…”  
  
The Mondaine nodded, fixed her eyes on Gamzee and gritted her teeth. “May I harrve this dance?” she said.  
  
Well. Gamzee had danced with weirder—and less beautiful—partners. So he accepted, and stepped out onto the floor with her. The band had struck up a flushed ballad a minute ago. Perfect.  
  
“I’m not very good at this,” Gamzee disclaimed as he started to step in time, holding her back and hand.  
  
The Mondaine shook her head. “I bad too. Trrueshot says I must.”  
  
“And you listen to that motherfucker?”  
  
She wrinkled her brow. “What is moth-err-fuc-kerr?”  
  
“That motherfucker Trueshot never motherfucking taught you what motherfucker means?”  
  
She shook her head.  
  
“It’s just the best word on the whole motherfucking planet! If you call Trueshot a motherfucker he’ll know how much you care about him.”  
  
The Mondaine nodded. “Okay. Now stop talking, moth-err-fuc-kerr? This is harrd…”  
  
Gamzee shut his trap, stifling giggles. It was so easy to go through the motions of pissing Trueshot off. As for the troll in his arms, the Mondaine felt strong—unnaturally strong for her caste—and her motions seemed infantile, like every move she made was new and unpracticed. As he felt her weight shift and move through the dance, Gamzee got a sense that the Mondaine’s entire body was wired incorrectly. Between her inexperienced movements and Gamzee’s left feet, they stumbled across the floor together. She gripped his arm like a bear trap, but once they stopped talking, she started to smile. He couldn’t help smiling back.  
  
When the song ended and the two returned, Gamzee found Karkat scowling and Twinhorn looking bored. They approached to catch the back end of Trueshot’s sentence.  
  
“…honestly unacceptable. No troll who truly cared for the welfare of others would allow those under their care to engage in such dangerous practices, even of their own volition.”  
  
“Have you and the Delegation clashed over this perspective?” Karkat asked. Twinhorn shrugged as Trueshot answered.  
  
“Imperial edicts have limited my ability to assist.”  
  
“He means the Empress ordered him to step off,” Twinhorn said. “We’ll do fine, just quit worrying. Besides, you have MD to fuss over.”  
  
Gamzee interrupted. “What is there to worry about with the bitchtitty Mondaine?”  
  
“Do not refer to her with such lewd language!” Trueshot scolded. The Mondaine stepped to his side, raised her chin and closed her eyes. Trueshot patted her on the head.  
  
“How long have you been culling the Mondaine?” Karkat asked.  
  
“Slightly less than a sweep. Her case is… exceptional,” Trueshot pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his stupid forehead. “During a recent expedition, I had the pleasure of encountering a pride of roarbeasts, and the Mondaine was living among them. By some error, she slipped through the cracks of the system and never had a hive or any social contact whatsoever. Her lusus joined the nearest group of similar beasts and they raised her alongside the young of their species.”  
  
The Mondaine paid no attention to her origin story. She had her eyes trained on someone else in the ballroom, a Governor who had chosen to wear a questionable cape with tassels on the bottom.  
  
“Of course, it would be ludicrously irresponsible to allow her to remain in the wild like that, so I acclimated her to my presence, and gradually encouraged her back to my hive. We’ve been flooded with physical therapy and remedial schoolfeeds since, to teach her to walk, speak, and integrate with society.”  
  
“You found her as an adult?” Karkat asked. Gamzee noticed her full, olive eyes, almost unusually lustrous.  
  
“By the mediculler’s best estimate, she is between eighteen and twenty-two sweeps old,” Trueshot reported.  
  
“And had never seen a troll before.”  
  
“Never. But her enthusiasm to meet more after making contact is extraordinary. Despite her savage origins, she is quite the budding socialite.”  
  
Karkat smiled. “Excuse me, Mondaine?”  
  
She tore her eyes away from the cape with all the enticing dangly bits. “Yes?” she said.  
  
“May I have this dance?” Karkat invited.  
  
Trueshot leaned down, ready to coax her to accept, but she already extended her hand. “You may!” she said.  
  
As Karkat and the Mondaine took the floor—a second flushed song, what was with this band?—Twinhorn hastily excused himself too, nearly sprinting across the floor because, lo and behold, her Radiance was unoccupied for five fleeting seconds. With two clock-ticks to spare, Twinhorn invited her to dance as well, and the Compasse and the Delegate took their places on the floor.  
  
Which left Gamzee alone. With  _Trueshot._  
  
“I told you so,” Trueshot said.  
  
“Which ‘told me so’ is this?”  
  
“I told you that you would not be able to escape your obligation to the class structure forever.”  
  
Gamzee rolled his eyes. “Alright, yeah. You got me. Look at me culling a motherfucker all night long. It’s the bitchtittiest.”  
  
“Your foul attitude is one hundred percent transparent as well.”  
  
“What the motherfuck do you mean by that?”  
  
“I mean you have found the experience to be fulfilling. Perhaps enjoyable.” Gamzee looked away so he wouldn’t see the sweat break out on Trueshot’s forehead. “You have guarded a singularly… provocative young troll.”  
  
“Did he swear at you?”  
  
“No. But I sensed other connections. He is very head _strong_ , like you.”  
  
Gamzee nodded. “Is the Mondaine gonna act like you after all this is done?”  
  
“That is the intended result,” Trueshot folded his arms. “You better not have polluted the Mondaine’s speech.”  
  
“Motherfucker, I  _enhanced_  it.”  
  
“Ugh…”  
  
They fell silent for a second. Gamzee watched Karkat as he guided the Mondaine around the room. He couldn’t ‘correct’ her lifetime of malformed body posture, but he at least made fewer of his own mistakes than Gamzee did. Neither spoke—she probably requested silence again—and the Mondaine’s head kept snapping around to watch the Governor with the stupid tassel-cape.  
  
“Is this some sort of test for her?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Not a test. Her progress is not to be measured on any sort of schedule. She will grow to be part of society at her own pace.”  
  
“Then why the motherfuck is she here now? She can barely walk upright, she talks like a two-sweeper, and you dropped the motherfucking spherical object if you think she likes wearing that wicked-ass dress.”  
  
“It’s simple exposure tactics. The Mondaine becomes quite frustrated when progress is slow and we have to repeat the same exercise a hundred times. Events like these help her recognize what she is working toward.”  
  
“High-society fuckery?”  
  
“Friendship.”  
  
Gamzee looked back at Karkat and the Mondaine. She was smiling again. She didn’t have to be taught how to smile. And it was a nice smile: honest and a little wild. It made Gamzee’s stomach flutter a little. Not in the dread way either, like the ones over the last few sweeps.  
  
The dance ended. Karkat and the Mondaine bowed and curtsied, and then walked toward the edge of the room. Or, they would have. Except the fucker in the tassel-cape walked the exact other direction. In a movement almost too fast to follow, the Mondaine dropped to all fours, reached her hands up, and dug her claws into the thick velvet of the cape like a meowbeast on a scratching post.  
  
Trueshot moved instantly, but Karkat was closer and quicker. As the Mondaine dragged the troll’s cape, choking him with the backwards pull, Karkat stepped between the claws and the man. He hooked his foot around the Governor’s leg, pulled, and knocked the both of them to the ground, thoroughly entangling himself in the man’s cape. The Mondaine, her play interrupted, backed up on all fours and hissed.  
  
“You half-witted clod, watch where you’re going!” the nobleman shouted. Trueshot reached the chaos and pulled the Mondaine away by her collar, muttering something in her ear to calm her down. Swept in the wake of Trueshot’s swift response, Gamzee approached the fray as well. Karkat and the coolblood continued to wrestle with both the ripped garment and each other.  
  
“Hang on, I got you,” Gamzee reached into the tangle of troll and velvet. “Damn, little bro, you’re like a cape magnet!” He lifted Karkat out of the mess, and the coolblood managed to right himself.  
  
“Let me look upon the face of the disgraceful wretch who couldn’t keep their grubby claws to—” the noble blustered, but he quickly fell silent when he met Karkat’s ashen-burning eyes. “Ch—Chimeric! My sincerest apologies, I didn’t realize it was you!”  
  
“Esteemed Majestic, the fault is entirely mine. I tripped on my feet and your cape paid the price,” Karkat held up the ruined cape and found one of the rips. “I clawed it on the way down, too.”  
  
 _She clawed it…_  Gamzee said. He glanced at Trueshot and the Mondaine. She had her head bowed as Trueshot smoothed his hand over her neck and behind her ears. Karkat successfully commanded attention away from her involvement in the fiasco. If the Majestic had yelled at the half-feral Mondaine for destroying his cape, she would either never want to be among trolls again, or replicate the damage on his face.  
  
“Please, allow me to replace the garment,” Karkat offered. “It’s the least I can do.”  
  
“What, that old thing? A torn cape means nothing compared to a tattered friendship,” the Majestic smiled falsely, like he had been taught how to communicate joy. “I hope you can forgive me for speaking so rudely to you.”  
  
“Certainly. In fact, are you able to stay in the palace for another few days? There are a number of trolls I would love to introduce you to. Very influential trolls that will really expand your horizons.”  
  
The Majestic’s eyes glittered, and he puffed up at the ‘special treatment.’ Gamzee knew this was just his invitation to the Chimeric’s court, where the Majestic would find himself thoroughly humbled. “It would be my honor to accept.”  
  
“Wonderful. Now, let’s stop sitting on the ground like the winners of a falling contest, shall we?”  
  
The Majestic wobbled his way to standing, and insisted on offering the younger, fitter Karkat a hand up. Gamzee held the Majestic’s destroyed cape until Karkat pulled him aside to a table. The Chimeric tugged a tassel off the bottom, then ripped a line of brocade off and used it as a string. Within a few minutes, he had a rough approximation of a meowbeast toy.  
  
While Gamzee disposed of the rest of the cape, Karkat took the toy to the Guardian and the Mondaine. He showed the tassel’s dance, and then gave the impromptu toy to the Mondaine, and whispered something in her ear that made her grin her biggest yet. Shortly after—citing exhaustion—Trueshot and the Mondaine left.  
  
“I hope we see them again,” Gamzee said.  
  
“If I get my way, we will,” Karkat said. “I just need to find a way to get my way.”


	32. Unfunny Ashes

Karkat pursued Guardian Trueshot like an obsessed hunter pursues a legendary beast. He added Trueshot to his growing list of weekly contacts—a list Gamzee had no idea how Karkat managed—and sent persistent and repeated invitations for Trueshot to join his personal court. For a few weeks, it was obvious that the Guardian was busy with work and could not spare another journey to the palace, but as time went on it became clearer and clearer that Trueshot simply didn’t want to go. He sent terse responses imploring Karkat to ‘agree to disagree’ and let the matter drop.  
  
“He’s always been an obstinate motherfucker,” Gamzee confided. “So full of motherfucking regulations he can’t tell when it’s time to let one wicked ruling go and pick up a new one.”  
  
“He younger than the present Age of Compassion,” Karkat added. “He’s never known a life without institutionalized culling. It seems that he regards it as his personal crusade to improve the warmer classes.”  
  
“Is there a term for that? For when a blueblood feels like it’s their motherfucking burden to help the other motherfuckers out?”  
  
Karkat snapped his fingers and jotted down a note. “The ‘blueblood’s burden.’ I’m codifying that this instant. It perfectly encapsulates his self-righteous and hemoist perspective, and the combination of charity and patronage that masquerades as sincere compassion. For someone who claims to love and serve warmbloods, he does an awful job of treating them like people.”  
  
“What do you think about the Mondaine? Is Trueshot any good for her?”  
  
“I don’t have a complete enough understanding of the situation. All I managed to talk to him about was the API, which is how I discovered he’s a hemoist bulgesucker who would rather dictate how the API runs their shit rather than let them succeed or fail on their own terms,” Karkat summarized swiftly.  
  
“You know more than that by now, bro. What have all your little motherfucking friends told you?”   
  
Karkat grinned wryly. “Trueshot has a reputation as a fauna enthusiast, so he’s a ‘strong’ candidate to translate between the language of trolls and beasts for the Mondaine. He encourages her to be more social, and so far I see no evidence he places her in distressing situations on purpose. The cornerstone of their relationship will be their hive life, which is a secret. If Trueshot allows her space and time to indulge her wild upbringing, then I wouldn’t worry. Learning to be a troll, for her, is like me learning other languages. It broadens horizons, but doesn’t replace identity.”  
  
“Well, good for them.”  
  
“And I can see why you waxed pitch for Trueshot in the past,” Karkat said, an eyebrow raised. “Let me guess, you hated his anal-retentive attitude and he hated your causeless rebellion?”  
  
“Yeah, you could motherfucking say that. It was just never about  _him_ , y’know? Or me for that matter.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Being spades with Trueshot was the closest I motherfucking got to being spades with culling. When we figured out he was the same way, trying to be spades with my faith, we realized neither of us were seeing the other motherfucker for who he was. So we ended that noise.”  
  
“You still seem to hold animosity toward each other.”  
  
“Nothing more than the fact he’s so motherfucking easy to piss off. Besides, hooking back up with that shitbeast is motherfucking counterproductive.”  
  
Karkat nodded.  _Too worldly._  Gamzee spent a moment nostalgically contemplating those younger sweeps when he did his best to get Trueshot’s goat, flinging hate and curses at him every chance he got. He used to think it was serendipity to hate Trueshot, like they were cosmically connected in some miraculous way. But, those cosmos like playing their jokes on motherfuckers, and broke that connection right the fuck up.  
  
He glanced over at Karkat, who had a pen and paper open again. Wait, was the conversation over? “Did you say something to me?” he checked.  
  
“Yes, but you spaced out. It’s fine.”  
  
Gamzee wrinkled his forehead and pursed his lips. “Aw, no, little bro! When we’re in the middle of our talking I shouldn’t just up and leave you like that.”  
  
“It was just a statement, that I’m sorry I brought one of your exes back into your life.”  
  
“Nah, we’ll be fine. We had some shit-awful times together, and we broke up like adults,” Gamzee sat up and stretched his shoulders. “But now I got some wicked curiosity about you, with all your masteries of the funniest fictitious romances. Do you want to get your quadrants on?”  
  
“I don’t mind waiting. Many protagonists in romcoms have to wait sweeps for their chance at serendipity.”  
  
“And you got a taste for older trolls.”  
  
Karkat frowned, his almost-red eyes flashing. “Don’t joke about us. It’s not funny.”  
  
He shook his head and waved his arms for good measure. “Oh—no! I don’t mean us, I’m talking flushed! Flushed!”  
  
“Flushed? There’s nothing in my flushed quadrant!”  
  
“Nothing all formal-style, no…”  
  
“So we’re in agreement, there’s nothing!”  
  
Gamzee clapped his hands. “Radiance, in the present Age of Compassion, by the power of some bullshit law and article or whatever the Vigilants say, I open a case about how the Chimeric has feelings red as his blood for Lawscale!”  
  
The aforementioned blood filled Karkat’s cheeks. “What feelings, there are no feelings, end of discussion!”  
  
“So he’s just got a little flush.”  
  
“We’re not talking about this!”  
  
“Not even a hint of red?”  
  
“Did you miss the part where I told you to shut your clownish ignorance hole?!”  
  
“Never said it in those particular words.”  
  
“Then allow me to tell you to shut your clownish ignorance hole!”  
  
“But I’m right, aren’t I?”  
  
Karkat pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, then let them fall to the table, dejected. “It’s just a total conflict of interests. Lawscale and I are politically allied… philosophically congruent. At least by now I know the reason she’s never responded to any of my letters is she’s waiting for my titling day to meet me.”  
  
“No pressure,” Gamzee said.  
  
He drew a breath and let it hiss out like a steam valve. “Right. No pressure whatsoever. Like it won’t be my turn to flounder around and hope I make a good first impression.”  
  
“I mean, with a good enough impression she might feel flushed back, y’know?”  
  
“That’s a possibility, but there are other factors in play. It’s more important for Lawscale and I to share a side than a quadrant. I need to appreciate her as an friend, and admire all of her good qualities—platonically, of course. If I confessed attraction, we might not be able to work together.”  
  
“But you’re not gonna deny that all your crushes have been on trolls older than yourself by a wicked significant chunk of sweeps.”  
  
“What was the phrase you used when I asked you?” Karkat tapped his chin. “You dated older trolls by happenstance? I’m not seeking elders on purpose, they just happen to be the trolls I know best and care about. If I met younger trolls and got to know them, I wouldn’t be opposed to quadranting with them.”  
  
“So are we in the same seagoing vessel here? Two motherfuckers doing their best not to get any quadrants on at all?”  
  
“I’d say we’re in the same boat for different reasons,” Karkat said.  
  
“How so?”  
  
“You’re maintaining celibacy for religious purposes. To ensure that your connection to the afterlife and the after-afterlife remains untainted. My celibacy is personal and situational.”  
  
“So you’re just a little too busy re-inventing all of motherfucking culling to get your quadrants on at anyone?”  
  
“No. I think it’s the other way around.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“I’m too busy re-inventing culling to spend time repressing feelings. I will not pursue, but I will not abstain,” Karkat scratched his pen on a page a few more times and then folded up another letter. “You feeling me?”  
  
Gamzee smirked a little. To his mind, that sounded a lot like trying to have his cake and eat it, too. “I feel you.”  
  


* * *

  
Half a sweep before Karkat’s titling day, something happened at court. Since Gamzee stopped attending on the regular, he heard about it after the fact when he received two messages a minute apart.  
  
cardinalGladiator is now contacting theisticConviviality  
CG: DON’T FREAK OUT. THE COMPASSE IS FREAKING OUT BUT DON’T FREAK OUT. I HAVE THIS UNDER CONTROL.  
  
consumateCondolence is now contacting theisticConviviality  
CC: Mirt)(ful, meet me in my study IMM---EDIAT---ELY!!!  
  
Minutes after those messages arrived, Gamzee entered the Compasse’s study. He found her Radiance pacing behind her desk while Karkat stood before her. His eyes—filled red, totally red, miraculously red—caught Gamzee’s, and he nodded: reassuring? Confident? Crazy?  
  
“What’s up, my fishy sister?” Gamzee said.  
  
“Mirthful, I need you to be honest with me. Has Karkat been orchestrating secret meetings in the palace?”  
  
_The Compasse is freaking out but don’t freak out._  “Define… secret.”  
  
“Only select people know about them.”  
  
“Well, they’re not exactly advertised to the whole motherfucking world, but I think enough motherfuckers are in attendance that it can’t quite be called ‘secret’ anymore, y’know?”  
  
“But there have been meetings! Gatherings where Karkat dispenses irresponsible culling advice!”  
  
“Mind telling me what happened to get your notice on to these meetings?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“A few hours ago, a petitioner in court addressed Karkat  _instead_  of me,” the Compasse explained.  
  
“Motherfuck! Really?” Gamzee looked between the Compasse and Karkat. She was furious. He was proud.  
  
“She entered the room, looked to me, and then  _asked Karkat_  for help with her problem!”  
  
“The issue is within my power to resolve,” Karkat said. “She felt qualified to complete CIP-exclusive degree work within her lifespan. I know an Educator who could administer an intelligence test and write a commendation. And you would have assigned her to be  _culled_  by an Educator, which is not the same as—”  
  
“That’s not the point! How long have you been acting behind my back like this?”  
  
“Almost a sweep now. I gather trolls from all positions on the hemospectrum to engage in a dialogue about social concerns.”  
  
Gamzee raised a hand. “I’ve been to these meetings, and the little bro isn’t so bad. He stays all completely legal and never orders a motherfucker to do anything.”  
  
“So what does happen? Keeping in mind that trolls with problems are  _substituting_  my court with Karkat’s.”  
  
“Well, everyone talks with each other… and then they get their settle on… and then the little bro brings the topic around to some social peculiarity and they all get their discussion on to it. And then he has a motherfucker or two with a rare story talk about their shit. He just raises questions like anyone got a right to.”  
  
“Those questions have consequences. One of the reasons court is so important is so I have a sense of what problems ordinary trolls are facing. I can’t govern correctly without feedback!”  
  
“Here’s some feedback: not every problem needs a culling mandate!” Karkat snapped. “I have witnessed thousands of petitions to the court and all of them end in culling, cool to warm. How is it a solution to be told you’re incapable of handling your own life? How is it fulfilling to debase yourself in hopes someone will save you? What if all you needed to solve your own problems was an opportunity? What if you could help others without making them feel tragic or helpless for accepting it?”  
  
“Those are not the situations we’re faced with at court,” the Compasse said. “Those are trolls who have exhausted all other avenues! They need to be _cared_  for!”  
  
“Do you have no creativity!? As the inventor of modern culling, are you truly incapable of seeing any solution other than the one you developed? What  _I_ provide people is a choice! That’s what the troll in court today did, she chose! And you can’t handle the fact that she chose  _me!_ ”  
  
The Compasse shook her head sadly. “Your court is just short-sighted and reckless. The coolest castes have only just started to feel comfortable culling as it is. I need at least another five hundred sweeps for culling to integrate with the fabric of society. Then I can start ironing out the problems.”  
  
“Once it’s integrated with the fabric of society it will be too late! And how dare  _you_  decide that centuries of warmbloods have to spend their whole spans feeling worthless while you twiddle your thumbs and wait for optimal conditions!” Karkat jabbed a finger at the Compasse.  
  
Her jaw set. “Disband your court immediately, Karkat. If you won’t do it because I ask, reinforcementers will do it for you.”  
  
“If you do that, you’ll have a rebellion on your hands,” Karkat said.  
  
“Rebellion?”  
  
“Two-thirds of the sitting Governors have attended at least one session. Many of your cabinet are regulars. My court is well-regarded among the nobility, and even warmbloods who have only attended one or two sessions send me messages that it changed their lives. Many either are or know psionics. Angering that many powerful people would spell a century of unrest, at least.”  
  
“Are you— _threatening_  me?” the Compasse cried. Her famous compassion evaporated. Karkat’s declaration posed a threat to her people she could no longer ignore.  
  
“I’m just reminding you of the consequences of the action you plan to take. You’re a queen, not a tyrant. There’s no way for you to disband us without appearing as a despot and losing favor.”  
  
“How am I a despot if I protect my subjects from a raving lunatic who means them harm!?” the Compasse stepped forward.  
  
“You’re a despot because you’re absolutely refusing to hear any perspective that contradicts your own!” Karkat matched her, advancing.  
  
Gamzee’s feet moved before he realized it, which was usually a sign he was trusting his heart on something. He stood between the two and said, loud and clear, “Alright, both of you motherfuckers are taking this shit way too fucking far! Get your motherfucking settle on before you make yourselves into enemies!”  
  
“Don’t you dare stand between us, it’s high time someone taught her a lesson—” Karkat tried to advance, but Gamzee clapped a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“You know how to teach, and this isn’t teaching! Just think about how you teach, bro. That miracle system you got going on. Remember? You gotta get your listen on…”  
  
His red eyes stayed hot—too hot, blazing hot—but his fists unclenched.  
  
“And my fishy sister, I gotta tell you from the bottom of my pump biscuit that what you’re afraid the Chimeric is doing is not what’s happening. There’s a lot of motherfuckers who feel it helps them, and he’s really just letting them help themselves.”  
  
“It’s not his place to determine what help people need!” the Compasse retorted. “He’s not even ten—”  
  
“Weren’t you not-even-ten once, sister?” Gamzee asked. “When you were the little bro’s age, didn’t you have to start acting like the Compasse’s crown was yours? Even before it was for real, you were already dreaming of what you’d fix once it was.”  
  
“Karkat is not an heiress,” she said.  
  
“You had him raised like one,” Gamzee said. “Didn’t you say you did that on purpose?”  
  
The Compasse looked at Karkat over Gamzee’s shoulder. She looked embarrassed, in a weird way. He wondered what Karkat was thinking about this news, but Gamzee stayed the course and focused on the Empress.  
  
“Just… give him one night. Let him show you what it’s like in the Chimeric’s court. Then you can hand down your wicked verdict over whether it’s a debate group or a hotbed of traitors. That sound fair?”  
  
The Compasse considered this for a few slow seconds, staring at Karkat and Gamzee in turn. Then she nodded.  
  
“Schedule a meeting for next week. I will visit your forum and re-assess my opinion. Until then, I bar you from court, as punishment for disruptive conduct. Dismissed.”  
  
Karkat clenched his teeth, but said nothing. Gamzee walked behind him as he stomped away from the office. He had one shot now. He hoped Karkat cleared his head enough to make it count.


	33. A History Not in the Books

Karkat stacked the odds in his favor. He invited veterans who had good chemistry and warned them about the Compasse, but skirted around the fact she wanted to end their gatherings. If they knew, they might try to tell appealing, uncoordinated lies and make the whole affair look suspicious. Until the fateful night, Gamzee could see him on edge, but he didn’t feel afraid. The Chimeric had hope.  
  
His guests, on the other hand, could not be calmed. A quorum arrived early, hoping for a few words with Karkat about why the  _Compasse_  would be here—fears running high and hot—and he told everyone to just act natural. The Compasse arrived five minutes late, which Karkat had calculated for, and she arrived to a nearly full room.  
  
A nearly full room that went silent.  
  
The Compasse presented herself as docilely as possible, wearing a simple pastel dress and no gold beyond her tiara, but her pink eyes and royal sign shut everyone up. The courtly coolbloods looked away, ashamed their political affiliations had been discovered. Common warmbloods tried to ‘act natural’ as instructed, but unpracticed with courtly manners, couldn’t decide how to greet her, so they said nothing.  
  
Karkat approached the Compasse and shook her hand: neutral, formal. “Thank you for joining us today.”  
  
“My pleasure!” she said. “Is this the part where we get to know each other?”  
  
“Essentially. We introduce ourselves, catch up…”  
  
She scanned the room, and everyone quickly looked as busy as possible. Her face fell a little.  
  
“Please excuse everyone for feeling nervous,” Karkat apologized, but he looked frustrated, too. “Let me try and encourage them.”  
  
He stepped away to mingle with the other attendees, leaving Gamzee with the Compasse.  
  
“See, my favorite part of this shit right here is the punch,” Gamzee opened his mouth and let the most inane small talk spill out. “Like, it’s whatever the little bro can get his claws on. One time it was just gallons of Tab, oh man, that was a  _bad_  night! Right, my fishy sister?”  
  
“Have these meetings really been happening for a whole sweep? And no one noticed?” the Compasse asked.  
  
Gamzee fidgeted with his fingers a little. “I don’t think so? I mean, maybe people noticed and… just didn’t tell?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” she asked quietly. “Does he not trust me?”  
  
“I don’t think trust is the issue here,” Gamzee chose his wording carefully.  
  
“What is, then?”  
  
He had to think for a second. “Faith,” he answered. “He doesn’t have faith that you’re a changeable person. So he figured he’d change all the other motherfuckers first.”  
  
The Compasse’s jaw tightened. She had more she wanted to say, to argue with, but she held it back. Hasty words pierced deeper than a trident, and could lead to war.  
  
Unable to coax guests into greeting the Compasse, Karkat instead invited them to sit in their usual loose ring for the night’s discussion. Gamzee, Karkat, and the Empress sat in an equidistant triangle around the circle. The mutant waited a little longer than usual to begin, scanning everyone’s faces.  
  
“I think, since we have a new guest here, it’s only fair of me to give some warning as to some of the topics we may be discussing,” he started. “I expect to open the conversation with examples of discrimination, which will require the discussion of hemosit slurs, other instances of prejudice, and a vast array of general profanity. If anyone does not want to be part of such a discussion, they can leave now without any judgment.”  
  
Everyone stayed in their seats. Karkat took a deep breath.  
  
“Alright then. We can proceed.” He turned to a blueblood. “Starkind, it’s good to see you again.”  
  
Starkind had apparently not been told he would be singled out. “Hi?” he said, while Gamzee struggled to remember where he had seen this troll outside of Karkat’s court. Had to be  _someplace_ , but where?  
  
“I wanted to ask you about our first conversation, on my seventh wriggling day. Do you remember it?”  
  
“Yes, I do!” Starkind beamed. “You advised me how to cull trolls when resources are scarce! Brilliant stuff—”  
  
“Before that. When a nubby seven-sweeper with a stick up his ass introduced himself with a title. Remember that?”  
  
His eyes widened. “Yes! Chimeric-called-Karkat!”  
  
A few people in the room gasped like they had just seen Karkat’s favorite pail.  
  
“Yes, that’s my hatch name. Tattoo it on your ass and stroke it to get off,” he grumbled at them. But he stayed on topic: “I want to know what you thought of me before we really talked. What was your first impression?”  
  
“I—uh,” Starkind stalled. “I thought you were presumptuous.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And… not polite…”  
  
“You called me lucky,” Karkat cut to the chase. “Why?”  
  
“Just look at all this!” he gestured to the block. “You have the most blessed life possible! All of your responsibilities are voluntary, and you could have anything you asked for in seconds. Any troll who lives like this is hatched lucky.”  
  
“So what was really running through your head when you met me?”  
  
With the dam cracked, Starkind answered, “Why does a mutant like you get everything handed to you, while I have to work to provide for others?”  
  
A few trolls—the Compasse in particular—stiffened at his use of the word ‘mutant.’ Karkat jumped in and gestured to his blazing eyes, “It’s fine, it’s accurate! I’m a mutant, I have a mutation, I don’t know if you can tell… But Starkind, think about it this way. That worldview had never been challenged before. No one presented an alternate way of thinking.”  
  
“I guess, but I was mostly just an asshole,” Starkind said.  
  
“I reject that anyone is naturally an asshole. You need a good reason to be an asshole—a good reason, and a good education,” Karkat smiled a little. “Who taught you how to be an asshole, Starkind?”  
  
“His lusus,” Gamzee muttered just loud enough to hear, to break up the ice further. Accustomed to the Mirthful’s jokes, everyone chuckled.  
  
“Not his lusus,” Karkat shot a false glare at Gamzee. “How about your predecessor? Who was that?”  
  
“Skyheart, rest his soul.”  
  
“Yes, rest his soul. Tell us about him. He was the previous custodian of your territory, right?”  
  
“Yes, he was. Well, um, he was my color. And he liked birds. A lot. Almost more than a troll should. He crafted gliders and kites for a hobby. We still honor him in the region with an aerial amusements day.”  
  
“What did he think of culling?”  
  
Starkind hesitated. “He opposed it. He was an evolutionist. He believed that the warmer classes would improve over time if we let nature decide who was fit to reproduce. Eventually the weakest genes would be filtered out of the s—the slurry,” He blushed blue at the word.  
  
“How  _benevolent_ ,” Karkat drawled. “How was he, as a culler?”  
  
“He culled the strong and talented happily, but always complained about culling those who couldn’t ‘pay him back.’” Starkind laughed dryly. “He’d slap me for being here. Drinking with lowblood freeloaders, mutant scum, and… um, a slur against her Radiance.”  
  
“What, you’ll call me mutant scum and your friends lowblood freeloaders but you won’t speak ill of the Empress?” Karkat taunted. Starkind looked helplessly at the Compasse, who nodded, forgiving.  
  
“Called her… her Revolting D-Desecration,” he stammered. “Or just ‘Disgrace’ for short.” A few people gasped, but the Compasse just smiled.  
  
“I’m familiar with that one,” she said. “The nobility loved to invent disparaging titles for me.”  
  
“They called you  _names_?! But you’re the Empress!” a young troll said.  
  
“They were upset and confused. No transition of power is easy, and the Empress changes so infrequently that by the time an Age of Compassion is over, everyone forgotten how to adjust to a new ruler.”  
  
“What was culling like under the previous Empress?” Karkat asked, for the sake of the room. He already knew, since he read all the books about culling. All of them.  
  
The Empress answered, but she looked surprised, like she hadn’t expected to talk about this. “Culling existed, and was quite common. But it was very unequal, with huge differences in quality of care. Evolutionism was very popular. Trolls culled the strong and left the weak to die. Others tried to find trolls who they claimed were the descendants of their loved ones. When I was very young, I heard of a culling house that was secretly a sweatshop. The cullees were essentially slaves.”  
  
“How could the Empress let that happen!?” someone cried in horror.  
  
“She stopped it when she found out. She simply didn’t know.”  
  
“The Compasse is a troll, too,” Karkat commented. “What else do you remember about your predecessor?”  
  
“What is there to say?” the Compasse stalled, a little confused.  
  
“This is your first time here, so you aren’t familiar with this tradition, but to raise awareness about the unique challenges faced by certain subgroups of trolls, usually someone speaks to the group about their experiences,” Karkat explained. “The life of an Empress are quite unique, and would broaden our horizons greatly to hear about. You could can tell us anything you like, though it’s easiest to tell stories here.”  
  
Every eye locked on the Compasse. She spent all night every night being stared at, but Gamzee wondered is she had ever felt pressure like this. She started, “An heiress is crowned one sweep after the previous Compasse abdicates. Or—wait, that’s not the right place to start. Let me try again…”  
  
“Take your time,” Karkat said. A few people shifted in their chairs, anxious about the very distant and private history the Compasse might just share with them.  
  
Gamzee broke the awkwardness again. “Hey, what do you call an underling who got all his motherfucking bones pulled out of him?”  
  
“What?” Karkat said.  
  
“Filet minion.”  
  
Many trolls laughed, others winced but chuckled, and Karkat rolled his eyes with an exaggerated groan.  
  
“Do you see this?! Look no further if you want to see compelling reasons for culling reform! I have been bound to this perpetual geyser of awful jokes my whole life! It’s torture!”  
  
“Aw, little bro, don’t  _skull_ k about it. It’s just a joke.”  
  
“If you say one more shitty pun I am throwing you out! Don’t think I won’t!”  
  
“Nooo, don’t get rid of the Mirthful!” Gamzee’s neighbor insisted, still giggling at the ‘filet minion’ joke.  
  
Gamzee smiled. “Yeah, I just bring some  _bone_ -ified fun up in this motherfucking business.”  
  
They filled the silence with awful bone puns and exaggerated pain until the Compasse coughed quietly.  
  
“You moron, we had a point! The Empress was addressing us and you distracted us! Your Radiance, I apologize for his behavior.”  
  
“I take no offense.”  
  
“Have you chosen a story to tell?”  
  
“Yes! I’ve found the right place to start talking about my predecessor.”  
  
No troll dared breathe as the Compasse began.  
  
“I have fond memories of the Compasse before me. She told me her hatch name, and gave me mine, though everyone always addressed me as Heiress. She was warm and loving. I remember the strength in her hands, and the elegant way she spoke. When I was young, I followed her everywhere—respite block, nutrition block, parliament block. We didn’t separate until my schoolfeeding began.”  
  
“The old Compasse was your lusus?” someone said.  
  
“Well, yes, but I don’t think of her like that.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“It’s just sad for me to imagine her as a lusus, given… well, her fate.”  
  
“What happened to her?” Another squeaked. The whole affair sounded more like the Compasse was telling a ghost story by the second.  
  
“No one knows the natural end of a tyrian lifespan. We grow to adulthood, and then stop aging completely. There’s something else that determines the end of a fuchsiablood’s reign, and in a way, her life.”  
  
“The Deep Abdication,” Starkind said, face grave.  
  
The Compasse nodded. “When I was five, the Compasse started to swim more often. I would join her, but it was different than when we used to play. It was like… the water was the only thing she loved anymore. She would get depressed and frustrated if kept away from the sea for too long. She started to spend whole nights in the water, meeting courtiers at the docks while submerged up to her fins. By the time I was seven, she started swimming away. She’d go missing for days at a time… then weeks, then perigees. I had to run the empire while she was gone. Soon enough, I was the Empress in everything but name. And by my eleventh wriggling day, she had been gone for a sweep. That’s the traditional cutoff, which meant… I was the Empress.”  
  
“Where did the last Compasse go?” someone said.  
  
“There are many myths. Like, we become the life force of the planet, or cultivate the coral, or transform into sea monsters.”  
  
“What did the Compasse tell you about where she was going?”  
  
“Nothing. She just smiled and said, ‘you will see.’ I think she knew where she was going, but not how to describe it in words.”  
  
“Are you scared?” Karkat asked.  
  
“No… but…” she paused. “But, yes. It’s unsettling, to know how my life will end. And I love this planet so much! When I leave, I want to leave it with a giant hug and a party! Not just slip away into the sea like none of this mattered to me. So, I am afraid.” She took a breath, and her fins fluttered lightly. “But, she didn’t look afraid when she was leaving. When the time comes, I won’t be afraid either.”  
  
“But you couldn’t have known which disappearance would mark the Deep Abdication,” A ceruleanblood said. “What was it like, not knowing if she’d come back?”  
  
“When I was nine, I felt prepared that each departure would be her last. She retuned three more times, but I thought I had most of it under control. There were some young nobles who helped me and believed in me,” she smiled, then laughed dryly. “The older nobles in power at the time kept waiting for her, though. They spent several decades calling me Heiress, longer than she told me to expect. Then they called me Disgraced, and Queen Bubblebrain, and muddweller, and Fuchsia Tyrant for about a century.”  
  
“And w-wader?” a nervous brown troll said.  
  
“That one, too.”  
  
“All because you were a new Empress?”  
  
“Not all of it. I began to institute modern culling too, and it was quite unpopular. The Guardians and the color duties you all recognize today. It started with a simple premise: a troll’s right to life will not be determined by their color, ability, age, gender, or creed. All had a right to quality support through their spans. So, I created laws and programs accordingly.”  
  
Someone started to clap, and the applause quickly caught. Karkat joined in without hesitation, and Gamzee followed him.  
  
“Do you believe culling reform is complete?” Karkat asked when the adulation died.  
  
“Not at all,” she said.  
  
“Neither do we. But we have a slightly different premise.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“We hold that the  _limits_  of a troll’s life will not be determined by their color, ability, age, gender, or creed.”  
  
Even without applause, agreement flooded the room.  
  
“These principles can co-exist, right, Compasse?” he asked, smirking like he’d won.  
  
She smiled back, the widest and least diplomatic grin of the night. “I cannot agree with that statement without more context. What is meant by the ‘limits’ of a troll’s life?”  
  
The game would continue. Karkat looked around the room. “Let me open that question to everyone: what are the limits of your lives?”  
  
There were as many answers as there were trolls. They cited limits as laws, attitudes, prejudice, access to education, and of course, lifespan. People spoke freely, even before her Radiance, because she was normal to them now—extraordinary, of course, but a troll, just like them, with goals, fears, and loved ones. As if repaying her for her honesty, they told stories of culling that she had never heard at court, both situations where it saved the day and fell far too short.  
  
Gamzee looked between the mutant and the queen, then said a short prayer.  _Messiahs, thank you for letting this motherfucker spend a chunk of his span with the greatest motherfuckers of our age. It’s been real._


	34. Opportunity and Impossibility

It took several nights before the Compasse found time to meet with them again. Karkat gnawed through a lip and passed the time curled up with romcoms. Where before, he could plan and prepare, now he had to await judgment, so god-awful movies about love and hate seemed like the best way to go. His idle hours stretched even longer since he still wasn’t allowed back to court.  
  
It didn’t help that, when the Compasse finally did meet with Karkat, she stalled.  
  
“Before I say anything else, I wanted to say sorry for the intensity of my accusations against you,” she said. “No matter what happens, you’re important to me, and I never want to treat the people I care about that way. Please, accept my apology.”  
  
Karkat seemed suspicious, not of the sincerity of her apology, but of its placement as the first thing out of her squawk blister. “Accepted, and also echoed. There are a thousand better ways to express disagreement than threats to destabilize the Empire. I shouldn’t have escalated.”  
  
She laughed lightly. “Now that we’ve exchanged apologies, I’d like to address other topics.”  
  
“Such as?”  
  
“The mistake that started this all is not to be repeated. Surely, you could agree that anyone seeking your help should not waste the precious time of the court in order to meet you. You established another channel for that express purpose, did you not?”  
  
He grimaced. “I did.”  _Probably stroked your ego to be consulted above an Empress in front of everyone, though_  
  
“So it would follow that your presence in court is… shall we say, incongruent with your goals?” the Compasse folded her hands and looked sympathetically at Karkat. ‘ _Poor mutant, trying to educate the population by distantly observing outdated procedures._ ’ “It’s really not beneficial for you to continue attending.”  
  
Karkat bristled, but in the wake of soothing apologies kept his voice in check. “Court still helps me stay abreast of current events. I would need something that provided greater benefits if I were to stop attending.”  
  
“Perhaps if your personal forum met during sanctioned times, with a dedicated space!”  
  
“I deliberately schedule them around court to accommodate BUOYs who feel unsatisfied with your rulings. It’s important they stay that way. So, I can continue with both.”  
  
Without missing a beat, the Compasse offered a counter-point. “But aren’t you going to run into a wall soon? There’s only so much you can do to change the system without the power to amend the system itself.”  
  
This time, his suspicion came with curiosity. “I had considered that… roadblock, yes,” he said carefully.  
  
“Now that I’ve attended your court, it’s obvious that you’ve been using it to reform culling from within. I appreciate that much more now! But as you showed, cullers and cullees harm each other because of flaws inherent to the system. So, you should be training to correct the flaws…” She smiled like a shark that caught the scent of blood. “Right?”  
  
“If this excessive build-up is not leading to an opportunity for me to gain authorization to correct the system, then you’ve wasted both of our time,” Karkat said.  
  
“The process of training Guardians, from initial nomination to certification, takes fifty sweeps,” the Compasse said. “You’ve got a notable head start, so could you do it in a half sweep?”  
  
Karkat’s jaw dropped a little. “…What.”  
  
“Just to tip the scales in your favor, why don’t you skip the ten sweeps of mediculler school, since your role as a Guardian would not be to deliver emergency assistance to sick or injured trolls.”  
  
“What would my role as a Guardian be, then?”  
  
“Your methods need to be taught to the other Guardians. Instead of counseling individuals, you would re-train the elites and change the entire system. But, in order to make sure that your reforms still meet their high standards of care, you need a traditional Guardian’s education.” The Compasse’s pink eyes sparkled. “Though, I only set the titling day deadline to encourage you to make the most of the time you have now. You probably can’t do it a half sweep anyway…”  
  
Karkat’s face blazed, but he caught himself, and started to laugh instead. “Okay, I’m caught! Hook, line, and sinker! You want to see me become a Guardian in half a sweep, and whip coolbloods into shape? Just watch me!”  
  
The Compasse joined him. “Then, you’ll have to re-prioritize a lot of your time. Fewer romcoms, social teas,  _court appearances_ …”  
  
Karkat smiled with grudging admiration. “Why have we never played chess, ‘Feffy?’ It would be a match for the ages.”  
  
“Because I don’t want to fight you on any plane. No matter the outcome, I would just feel sad.”

* * *

  
Karkat started with aptitude tests, establishing a baseline for his self-directed education thus far. The results came back favorable, but with a few gaping holes in subjects Gamzee didn’t know existed. The fifty sweeps of education the Compasse mentioned would be more like fifteen in practice, as if that weren’t still nigh impossible.  
  
Gamzee attended Karkat’s first lessons, just to meet the new teachers. In five minutes flat he understood absolutely nothing and in an hour he understood even less. Karkat seemed confused too, knitting his eyebrows together and saying, “Wait, go back,” more often than usual. But, unlike his previous tutors, who would dumb down the material for him, these professors kept even voices and told him that a Guardian needed to understand such topics. Like a troll slapped by his pitch crush, Karkat nodded and gave it everything he had.  
  
Literally.  
  
The studies quickly took a physical toll. Karkat used his insomnia as extra reading hours, with consequences. The lines and shadows on his face that plagued him since adolescence started to deepen. He started getting migraines, shakes, and dizzy spells. His diet devolved almost exclusively to things that could be eaten with his hands while he read, and the poor nutrition leeched at his strength.  
  
“Bro… Give it a rest every once in a while,” Gamzee told him one perigee into his new quest. “What good is becoming a Guardian if you shred yourself to death over it?”  
  
“The good? The good is, the Compasse has told me I can have the power to change all of Beforus if I can just do the impossible. But guess what? My _existence_  is impossible! And if I reach my titling day without at least  _completing_  all this work, I will never forgive myself.” Unlike previous occasions when Karkat was hell-bent on following a self-destructive path, he looked at Gamzee not with challenge but with an honest plea. “I know it looks awful. It’s going to look worse before I’m done. But please, let me do it. Let me try.”  
  
And what the fuck could he say to that? Gamzee’s long-standing pale devotion flared up something fierce. He longed to close those books, shove away the papers, and cuddle Karkat back into a troll who didn’t look so goddamn sick, but Gamzee chose to listen to Karkat. Maybe that was the latest in a long line of bad decisions.  
  
Since Karkat’s new packed schedule made demands of time he used to set aside for social purposes, he started to explicitly send Gamzee as his representative to other trolls. His tasks were ludicrously easy; after a few minutes of whatever qualified as ‘business,’ he’d just shoot the shit with some motherfucker and have a grand old time. Even people who were very disappointed to miss out on meeting the Chimeric understood his situation, and no one ever regretted half an hour with Gamzee.  
  
“It sort of feels like…” one tealblooded Courtier ventured. “Like, you have your culler, and then your culler’s cuddly lusus who’s just so much more fun. So even though the culler is the wise one, you’d always rather take your scrapes to the lusus. If… If it’s not insulting to compare you to a lusus, that is.”  
  
Gamzee smiled. “They’ve been calling me his lusus for nearly ten sweeps now and I ain’t been offended yet.”  
  
That, and he still kept in touch with brothers from the Big Top.  
  
jovialDevotion is now contacting theisticConviviality  
JD: IS the DATE for THE new TREATY set?  
TC: ThEy’rE StIlL FuCkInG WiTh dEtAiLs. BuT ThE BrO LeAvEs, AnD ThEn i lEaVe.  
JD: WHERE’S the BRO going?  
TC: GoNnA Be sOmE KiNdA WiCkEd-aSs gUaRdIaN-CrItIc.  
TC: TaKe aLl tHe kNoWlEdGe oF ThE GrEaTeSt cUlLeRs sO He cAn tElL ThEm hOw tO Do iT BeTtEr.  
JD: WOAH! best OF luck TO him.  
JD: WHEN will HE leave?  
TC: TiTlInG DaY, iF He’s lUcKy.  
JD: THAT’S the DATE for EVERYONE’S shit…  
JD: OH, i HEAR the MELLOWED has AN invitation ALREADY. what THE shit IS that NOISE?  
TC: ReCiPrOcAtIoN FoR ThE ChImErIc bEiNg pArT Of hIs nInJaLiCiOuS TiTlInG DaY.  
JD: WHAT if I’M feeling IT?  
TC: FeElInG WhAt?  
JD: THAT i WANT to SHOW my PAINT at THE motherfucker’s WICKED carnival.  
TC: DiDn’t yOu aLwAyS ThInK ThE LiTtLe mOtHeRfUcKeR WaS My bAlL AnD ChAiN?  
JD: YOU got ME there, BUT i THINK different NOW.  
JD: HE recognizes HOW you BELONG to THE church, NOT him.  
TC: ReCoGnIzEs, WhAt tHe fUcK? hAvE YoU SpOkEn?  
JD: JUST a COUPLE times, ONLINE. the MOTHERFUCKER was WORRIED about HELPING you KEEP the FAITH. it WAS all NONSENSE, but YOUR cullee KNOWS to HAIL his CULLER’S color.  
JD: SO i GOTTA hail BACK, y’know? EXCEPT he DON’T got A color.  
TC: FiNd hIm sOmEoNe tO PaIl aNd hE’Ll hAvE A CoLoR. tHeN YoUr dEsCeNdAnT CaN HaIl hIs.  
JD: SHIT man, THAT’S perfect! WHAT kinda TROLLS get YOUR motherfucker FEELING concupiscent?  
TC: TaLl, TeAl, AnD CrAzY.  
  
Another notification pinged Gamzee’s account.  
  
courtlyAdventurer is now contacting theisticConviviality  
CA: youre free right?  
CA: meet me at the northeastern spire  
CA: wwe need to talk  
  
Gamzee grimaced at the message, but couldn’t think of any real excuse. So he said farewell to the Priestly and wandered his way to the tower. 

* * *

  
The northeastern tower boasted a drawing room with large, airy windows to show off a vast expanse of sea, coastline, and starlight. The Seafarer waited for him, dressed for expedition: darker coat, fewer adornments, no cape.  
  
“Going somewhere?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“I set sail in two hours. This is the only time I could make to speak with you.”  
  
“Speak, motherfucker.”  
  
“I think there’s somethin’ you should know about your ‘little bro.’” He crossed to a window and pointed at the shore. “Do you see that round chunk blown out a the middle a those rocks?”  
  
Gamzee looked and noticed the feature in question: a very even hole carved away near the coast. “Looks like a crater.”  
  
“It  _is_  a crater. Nearly ten sweeps ago, the Compasse and I were havin’ a pleasant evenin’ in this very tower when a meteor fell from the sky and struck _there_. We rushed out to see the damage, and do you know what we found in that crater?”  
  
“A rock?”  
  
“A  _grub_. Nubby-horned and red-faced from howlin’. An off-spectrum mutant.”  
  
“The Chimeric?”  
  
“For the love of fuck, you don’t have to use that fake little title when he’s not here!”  
  
“But it’s  _about_  to be his title.”  
  
The Seafarer flung his hands in the air. “Fine! You’re distractin’ from the point!”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
“Karkat—the Chimeric—never hatched in the caverns. He fell from the sky.”  
  
Gamzee’s jaw dropped. “Woooah…”  
  
“Excuse me?! That’s not the right reaction to findin’ out your cullee is a space alien!”  
  
“You think he’s an alien?”  
  
The Seafarer floundered. “I mean… not really, it’d be pretty hard to argue so now, but when a grub falls from the sky and survive a fatal impact it makes a man think some outlandish things.”  
  
“It sounds like another miracle to me. Who am I to say what he is, just because he came into this world by a wicked-ass rock instead of an egg?”  
  
“The point is, he’s caused nothin’ but trouble since the beginnin’. I tried to tell the Compasse not to take him in, but she didn’t listen. I’ve watched him destroy her.”  
  
“One little grub, destroy an Empress?”  
  
“When he was just a mite, he cost her sleep and strength. He pupated, and cost her peace. Not even bringin’ in you saved that. He got older, made outlandish demands, and cost her compassion.”  
  
“You saying the little bro could drain our Compasse of compassion?”  
  
“For all those times she’s had to tell him no? It tears her apart to be cruel to him. Or did you think she giggled her way to her sopor for enforcin’ that jadeblood’s conscription?”  
  
Gamzee had nothing to say to that.  
  
“And now he’s taken her  _reason_! There’s nonsense spillin’ out a his mouth, bullshit about egalitarianism and revolt if he doesn’t get his way, and what does the Compasse do? Sets him up to become a  _Guardian_! And she won’t listen to me! She won’t  _listen_  when I tell her this will cause nothin’ but trouble!”  
  
The Seafarer was panting now. And Gamzee… had  _no_  idea what to do. Was he trying to cheat on the Compasse? Complaining about a distant moirail is one thing, but this Empire rested on this moiraillegiance. If the Seafarer and Compasse couldn’t sort their shit out there would be trouble worse than anything Karkat would cause. Gamzee fidgeted and asked, “So, uh, what do you need this motherfucker for?”  
  
“Doesn’t he listen to you? Talk some sense into him!”  
  
Gamzee laughed. “Once a sweep or so. For the big shit he needs a chorus of no’s.”  
  
“I could arrest you over it. Protectin’ him is akin to permittin’ sedition against the Empire!”  
  
“So long as I do no wrong by the Messiahs, my brothers will have my back.”  
  
“You won’t even try for a favor? I’d clip my fins for this!”  
  
“Favors are just chains, whether you owe them or are owed.”  
  
“Fuck!” he cried. “What do I got to do to make you stop him!?”  
  
“Can’t be done, fishbro, even if I wanted to.”  
  
“So you don’t want to? What if he burns the empire to the ground?”  
  
“Let it burn. He’ll build it back better once it’s finished being all on fire.”  
  
“What evidence do you have of that? He’s not divine. You know better than anyone how he used to be the awfulest little brat!”  
  
“Maybe that’s the miracle, y’know? That some mutant motherfucker grew up from a rude, ornery grub to a political visionary. Maybe we all got that kinda grow-power in us.”  
  
The Seafarer shook his head sadly. “There’s just no gettin' through to you, is there?”  
  
“Probably not. I just wanna help the little bro go as far as he can.”  
  
“Even straight off a cliff?”  
  
He shrugged again. “Didn’t they used to say the same thing about the Compasse? Calling her Disgrace and all. I don’t know if you were around for it—”  
  
“Oh,  _I_  was around alright. I was around for  _all_  of it,” the Seafarer interrupted.  
  
“Shit, man, really?”  
  
“I am exactly three-point-one-four sweeps older than the Compasse. My first memory is the newsfeeds announcin’ an Heiress had hatched. The adults lost their pans, moanin’ about the end of an Age, but I was overjoyed. I saw opportunities to help the new Empress shape the world.” He blushed and looked away. “I spent my whole wigglerhood dreamin’ a the night I’d meet her…”  
  
Gamzee smiled. “Your dream came true, motherfucker! Double miracle style, since you met her and then met her in in your pale quadrant. Like a real fairytale.”  
  
The Seafarer stared out the window at Karkat’s crater and nodded.  
  
“I appreciate getting my motherfucking understand on to your perspective in this business. But the Chimeric isn’t that bad, and the Compasse can stand up to him. I’ve seen it.”  
  
“Yeah,” the Seafarer said, with that bored, ‘I’m agreeing so you’ll stop talking’ tone. “I don’t know why I bothered tellin’ you any of this, honestly. You won’t even be his culler after his titlin' day.”  
  
“Oh yeah… I keep forgetting.”  
  
“I’m jealous of you for that, really.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“The way a fool can be happy no matter what heap of rubbish life dumps him in.”  
  
Gamzee smiled and shot a pair of finger guns his way. “Mirth- _fool_!”  
  
The imperial confidant facepalmed in a dignified manner.


	35. Far as the Night is Dark

The Grand Highblood and the Compasse dragged out negotiations until the last possible second. They agreed on the end result of Gamzee leaving, but had wildly different ideas about the value of that separation. The Compasse would propose a new condition. The Highblood would answer “hell no.” Then the Compasse would say, “I suppose we can reconvene in a few nights.” Even when they reached an arrangement about a new provision, if often came at the cost of striking a different one from the draft, until Gamzee had no idea what the fuck was in this treaty at all.  
  
On the day of ratification—one perigee before Karkat’s titling day, in the middle of final preparations for his Guardian candidacy exams and thesis defense—the relevant parties and witnesses gathered in the Compasse’s office. Gamzee and the Highblood would sign on behalf of the Church, with the Compasse and Seafarer signing for the Empire. Everyone else was just decoration, supposedly watching for underhanded tricks, but that purpose was just symbolic now.  
  
Karkat stood among the witnesses. For a long time, Gamzee didn’t know if he would show up. Karkat had wanted to, once upon a time, and then he accepted his torturous Guardian quest, which meant any time not spent preparing for that was time wasted. But, since this treaty ended Karkat’s formal, legal bond with his culler, he wanted some role in its dissolution, even if it was just to approve what had already been decided. Like he wanted to satisfy some sour grapes in his soul: ‘ _Fine! Take my culler! I don’t need him anymore!_ ’  
  
Or maybe that was just Gamzee’s imagination. He avoided looking at Karkat, afraid he’d lose his nerve and refuse to sign. How could he agree to leave Karkat if he looked like  _that_ , so sickly and frail? The whole atmosphere felt like a funeral to him, and not one of the awesome riot blasters that happened in the Big Top. No, it was somber, sorrowful, like how fish people and heretics threw funerals. Sad and awful.  
  
There would be six copies of the treaty in total: a prime copy, to be signed with pomp and circumstance and preserved as planetary law, and five ratified copies as backups and personal records for the participants. The Compasse started at a large writing desk, set with the prime treaty and a rainbow of pens to represent the blood colors of present company. She sat, signed with fuchsia, then yielded to the Highblood. He took his color and added his name to the treaty, and then with a small knife slit a line across the palm of his hand. He dabbed at the blood and added a purple thumbprint next to his signature. Witnesses unfamiliar with the ways of the purplebloods gasped at this violent sacrifice—“he sealed it with blood!”—but Gamzee knew it was an action of disrespect, getting his paint on the Compasse’s treaty like he would at the Honk Halls. When he was done, the Highblood left the knife on the signing desk for Gamzee, but didn’t look at him.  _Giving me the option… I think._  
  
The Seafarer grimaced at the Grand One’s bloody thumbprint, but signed without complaint and vacated the chair for Gamzee. He sat, picked up the pen, and signed as fast as he could before his hands could shake. He left the knife alone. When he stood, he shrugged at the Highblood, who smiled and nodded.   
  
When Gamzee got close enough, he whispered, “Curious what you’re gonna think of fishbitch when you have to deal with her for nine hundred more sweeps.”  
  
“Probably what I’m gonna think about you in nine hundred sweeps,” Gamzee answered.  
  
“What are you gonna think about me?”  
  
“I’m gonna think, ‘that motherfucker is so old!’”  
  
The Highblood chuckled, and Gamzee relaxed.  
  
The witnesses took their chance to sign, following a hemospectral order from cool to warm, leaving Karkat to sign last. He approached the table and nearly fell into the chair, like his legs had given out under him. With shadows around his eyes and cheeks even deeper with the odd light angle, he took his pen and signed, but rather than set it down, he shook it and frowned.  
  
“What’s wrong?” the Compasse asked.  
  
“This—This isn’t, it’s not… not my shade.” He set the pen down, and before anyone could stop him, he sliced his palm open with the Highblood’s knife. This time, more people freaked. It was one thing for a half-sane old coolblood to open his veins, quite another for a delicate, hotblooded mutant.  
  
“It’s fine!” Karkat insisted. He held out his palm for people to see the superficial wound. It was just a thin red line, with three drops of blood reaching down. “It’s barely anything. I’ll heal.”  
  
He dragged his thumb through his blood and added a red print next to his name, blotting forcefully. It marked the first use of the name ‘Chimeric’ on any government document, and surely not the last. Karkat finished, dabbed his palm with a handkerchief, and vacated the desk.  
  
The Highblood clasped a hand on Gamzee’s shoulder and leaned close to hiss, “Did you tell him to do that?”  
  
“No,” Gamzee told the truth. “I didn’t tell him anything about getting paint on the treaty.”  
  
The elder grudgingly believed him, and watched Karkat rejoin the witnesses. Karkat didn’t meet anyone’s concerned eyes. He just stared at the ground, eyes closing for a few seconds each time he blinked.  
  
The process repeated five more times, except no one bled on anything else. Before long, special paper-handler people had the copies rolled up and distributed to their intended homes. When everyone vacated the block, Gamzee felt an instinct force pull him toward Karkat, but he knew he had to stay with the Highblood. Fortunately for his dilemma, the Grand One himself approached Karkat, a little rage running under his joker’s mask.  
  
“Think you were being cute back there, wiggler?” he growled. “Think you’re funny?”  
  
“What? No, you don’t get it,” Karkat told the leader of Gamzee’s religion. “I don’t want people to look back in the history books and think I was, like, a slightly over-saturated burgundy. I am the scarletblood—the Chimeric. They gotta get it right.”  
  
Unconvinced, the Grand Highblood twisted his mouth.  
  
“You wanna know the real joke? That was when everyone lost their pans over a little blood.”  
  
“That’s your story, motherfucker?”  
  
“I know trolls who would rather die than bleed,” Karkat said. The passion and delirium in his eyes honestly made him look far more like a purpleblood than Gamzee had ever seen. “I know trolls who would bleed dry to save another’s life—even a stranger’s life. And I know trolls who would bleed to make the room more beautiful. It’s not a joke to bleed. The joke is finding out what people think blood means.” Karkat forced his mouth into a dry, exhausted smile. “On a less gory topic, I will be a titled Guardian in a perigee. Should I expect your attendance at my titling day?”  
  
The Highblood paused, but then shrugged. “If I remember,” he answered. Then he slapped Gamzee on the back in farewell and strode off down the hall, swinging his copy of the treaty like a juggling club.  
  
Gamzee shook out the stinging blow, then leaned down to Karkat. “I know you want to be friends with every single motherfucker, but you don’t want to go fucking with the Grand Highblood.”  
  
“Was that what I was doing? Fuck,” Karkat pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mirthful, my thesis defense is in six days and I have one hundred hours of tests to complete in two weeks. Do you think I have the mental energy left to scheme at the Grand Highblood?”  
  
“Then what was that shit about the blood?”  
  
“It really wasn’t the right color. Pissed me off. And then I just… acted? I’m okay, I promise. Doesn’t hurt.”  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
“Seriously. But please, I need to go back to my block. Cram time.”  
  
“You mean all the time?”  
  
“Sure, whatever.”  
  
“You sure you wouldn’t benefit from twenty minutes in the slime?”  
  
Karkat twitched his head side to side. “No. Not until after. After, it won’t matter.”  


* * *

  
Gamzee stuck close to Karkat from that day on, almost like back when Karkat was just a tiny one-sweeper. His peers excused Gamzee’s helicopter-culling given the circumstances. Karkat might just become the first warmblooded and the first mutant Guardian, all before his titling day. Brothers from the Church wished Gamzee well and wished Karkat luck, some more sarcastically than others. The attendees of Karkat’s court accepted its hiatus and passed him gifts through Gamzee, as humble as a handmade card and lavish as jewelry, rubies and platinum.  
  
Karkat received letters, too: from the Benevole— Your Determination Will Surely Reap Rewards. You Are In My Thoughts—from Twinhorn—iif anyone can prove them wrong iit’2 you—and a two-word note from Lawscale—K1CK 4SS! Karkat clenched these notes up in his fist like he could leech strength and wisdom from them. He only let them go for test time, where he used his free hand to pry open his claws and deposit the crumpled letters in Gamzee’s waiting hands.  
  
On the night of the last test, Gamzee waited outside of the examination hall, too nervous to even pray for Karkat. People passed him by, offered him water or a pillow, but Gamzee smiled and waved them away. Karkat was so close he could taste it; what if he failed? Sure, he could re-take in a sweep or two, but failing first would impact his reputation. What if he pushed his body too hard for him to accurately communicate his brilliant brain, and they flunked him?  
  
The only thing Gamzee had to distract him was his palmhusk. He found messages between theisticConvivality and cardinalGladiator. All of their important talks took place in person, but Gamzee had a detailed record of coordination between himself and Karkat.

ALMOST DONE. BE THERE IN FIVE. SuRe tHiNg bRo. 

ReAdY? YEAH, JUST FINISHED.

I ThInK I’M GoNnA Be LaTe. IT’S OKAY. SEE YOU SOON.  
  
_"We_ like _each other. We care about_ each other."  
  
Six hours and twelve minutes after he entered the test room, he exited. Gamzee jumped to his feet. “Little bro! You’re done! How’d it go? Good?”  
  
Karkat took two shaking steps forward and ran directly into Gamzee’s front. His horntips reached Gamzee’s collarbone. Afraid he might faint, Gamzee wrapped his arms around Karkat to keep him standing.  
  
“Tell me it’s over,” Karkat mumbled into Gamzee’s shirt.  
  
“It is, little bro. All they gotta do now is grade you and vote. Your part is done.”  
  
“Tell me it was worth it.”  
  
“It was! This is the most wickedly worthy thing in the universe. First warmblood, first mutant, everyone’s gonna look at you and think, if that motherfucker can do it, I can too.”  
  
His shoulders hitched. “Tell me… tell me you’re proud of me.”  
  
“The proudest,” Gamzee said instantly. “I’m so motherfucking proud of you. I’m proud of you every motherfucking night, and now you just up and turned your life into the most miraculous thing… I couldn’t be prouder.”  
  
“Good… Thanks for spitting out words I shoved in your mouth…”  
  
Karkat’s weight pressed firmer on his front, and Gamzee held him tighter to compensate. This is what he’d been longing for all this time, just taking Karkat and healing him back to happy or angry or whatever he wanted to be, just not  _dead_  like this.  
  
“Hey. Let me carry you to your ‘coon.”  
  
He made a noise like a dying barkbeast. It sounded a little like “no.”  
  
“It’s why I’m here. I take care of you when you make the impossible happen. And if the miracles cost you your legs, well, I’ll carry you far as the night is dark.”  
  
He felt Karkat’s knees start to shake, and his resolve crumbled shortly after with a tiny nod, Gamzee scooped Karkat into his arms and brought him back to his block. Karkat sighed when Gamzee helped him climb into the slime, and the pain in his face finally dissolved. Who knew the last time he had enjoyed its depths?  
  
He did not move from that slime for two days. Gamzee busied himself preparing food for when Karkat woke, only to eat it himself when Karkat stayed asleep. Though he detested himself for touching Karkat, Gamzee checked his pulse every few hours. A medical checkup didn’t count as pale, right?  
  
Near the end of the third day, the Compasse visited. She stood outside the door with a thick envelope.  
  
“Is he awake?” she asked.  
  
“Not yet.”  
  
She pouted. “What a shame. I wanted to open this with him.”  
  
“Those his scores?”  
  
“And the Guardians’ verdict! I don’t even know his result.”  
  
“Tell you what, how about you give me that, I give it to the little bro, and then he announces the result to you when he’s got his strength back.”  
  
With a smile, the Compasse popped up onto her toes and kissed Gamzee’s cheek. Stunned, Gamzee covered his cheek with one hand while the Compasse deposited Karkat’s results in the other.  
  
“Thank you, Mirthful. From the both of us,” she said. “Call me when he wakes.”  
  
And then she left, her hair flowing behind her like a waterfall. When Gamzee pulled his hand away, he found her lipstick on his fingers. Thankfully, the block was dark.  
  
He put that surprising action aside and approached Karkat’s recuperacoon. He reached out and ruffled Karkat’s hair, the only part of him above the slime level. “Chimeric? I got something… Hey, you need to see this… Little bro?”  
  
Very slowly, Karkat blinked awake. Even with a lot of rest left before recovery, he looked stunningly better. His eyes could at least properly focus on Gamzee now.  
  
“Your results are here.”  
  
Karkat lifted his chin out of the slime. “Decision?”  
  
Gamzee opened up the envelope from the wrong end and promptly dumped the papers all over the floor. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry bro—uh, looks like… looks like you passed your tests! At least, I think I’m reading this right. You’re third… quartile?”  
  
Voice lethargic, Karkat interpreted: “Above the average of all current Guardians. I pass.”  
  
“You did it! Wicked motherfucking congratulates in order for you, bro!”  
  
“My thesis? The vote?”  
  
More shuffling. “Uh, there’s this essay from one motherfucker… who loved it? Then this other one hated it… How the shit did they write responses so quick?”  
  
“Mirthful,  _please_. Tell me the vote.”  
  
He squinted in the dim light. There was a long list on one side, a short on the other. Which was the yes side?!  
  
“It’s… It’s a yes, bro! They voted yes! Like, there’s a chunk who said no, not gonna get my lie on at you, but you got a good margin, it ain’t neck-and-neck. You impressed them! They like you!”  
  
Karkat closed his eyes again, and small drops gathered at the corners.  
  
“Shit, motherfucker, what are you crying about? You did it! You’re that blazing beacon everyone’s gonna look to when people tell them they’re too warm or weak to do anything!”  
  
“That’s  _why_  I’m crying, I’m crying because this… this is…” he croaked. “I did it. I actually fucking did it.”  
  
Gamzee leaned against the side of the recuperacoon and rested his head on his hands, looking over the rim. “I knew you could,” he said. “I knew you could. I was just… I was afraid of the cost, y’know?”  
  
“That I’d damage myself forever in the pursuit of this opportunity?”  
  
“That, yeah.”  
  
Karkat laughed. A few more tears fell. “I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. But since I was hurting… I had to make the most of it.”  
  
“You made more than the most. You took your effort muscle and told it ‘most you got, motherfucker!’”  
  
“…I don’t even have the energy to contemplate that,” Karkat shook his head. “How long was I asleep?”  
  
“Three nights.”  
  
“So I have four nights until my titling day?”  
  
“Yep. Well, it’ll be three tomorrow. Do you wanna get up now?”  
  
“…Fuck it. No,” Karkat said. “Wake me at sunset.”  
  
“Sure thing, Guardian Chimeric,” Gamzee replied, and then he laughed. “Or, chimericGuardian?”  
  
Karkat just settled back into the slime and closed his eyes, still smiling. Gamzee had never seen him look so…  _satisfied_  before. Like he had just been through the depths of hell and then returned to the surface to see the stars twinkle into place. Seven sweeps later, Gamzee still wanted to kiss him.  
  
He left before he did. Karkat needed a square meal ready for him when he woke.


	36. The Last Great Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTEMPT RARE AND HIGHLY DANGEROUS x3 CHAPTER LENGTH COMBO  
> (Good god are there a lot of characters in this story…)

Like a wilted flower in need of water, Karkat healed from his trials quickly. With his foot pulled out of his grave, he told the Compasse the good news, cried and hugged with her, and set to work putting the finishing touches on his titling day preparations. Her Radiance had arranged almost everything, and after ten sweeps she finally knew Karkat’s preferences.  
  
First thing on his titling day, Karkat shared breakfast with those in the palace who knew him well… which was pretty literally everyone. The Compasse had seats for people in her sphere who interacted with Karkat regularly, but everyone from the guards to the nutritionblock staff wanted to offer him congratulations. He spent most of that morning on his feet, taking turns to talk with everyone, especially the people who didn’t have a seat put aside for them.  
  
Gamzee caught the Seafarer hunched in his chair and looking pissed. He leaned over and whispered at his fin, “Still think he’s a space alien?” The Seafarer responded by spearing his eggs harder.  
  
Following the meal, Karkat had about an hour to groom himself for the main event of the evening. Simply from RSVP volume alone—and the fact that people had already started to show up, assuming if they arrived early they’d get to talk with the Chimeric—the event would start early and last late, just to accommodate everyone. Gamzee didn’t change, since formalwear was a foreign concept for irreverent minstrelisters, but Karkat could clean up nicely when he wanted. The newest Guardian had a well-fitted, hip-length kurta made from scarlet silk, with thick embroidery around the tunic’s hem and high collar. It had the same shape and color as his familiar and comfortable sweaters, but with a lot more pale gold and rubies sewn into the trim. Gamzee thought he looked stunning. He wished he could say so without digging up feelings they had been trying so hard to bury.  
  
In barely any time at all, Karkat arrived in the entry hall and dove into greeting the early arrivals. Most were members of his personal court, the ones most distressed to see Karkat’s strength failing as he studied. With overflowing energy, they demanded: “Did you make it? Are you a Guardian? We missed you! Are you okay? Did you make it?!”  
  
He beamed and nodded, and from there trolls lost their pans: they clapped, cheered, shrieked, hugged and one person probably kissed him, but it happened too fast for most to notice or categorize. Gamzee hovered close enough to flash Karkat an  _okay_  sign and see one in return. This level of crowd was nothing to him. And besides, it was high time the most honored student of all time got the chance to party.  
  
“Oi, motherfucker!” a familiar voice called out, and Gamzee looked to the door to see the Priestly and Mellowed approaching. Gamzee met them halfway, but with barely a nod to his elder and (presumed) future leader, the Mellowed kept walking, on to Karkat and the throng around him.  
  
“Youth,” the Priestly shrugged and grinned. “Couldn’t stop talking about this carnival for the last perigee.”  
  
“The pompous noble noise is gonna disappoint, but the Chimeric won’t.”  
  
“So is he a Guardian now?”  
  
“Fuck yeah.”  
  
“Good for him!”  
  
“Yeah. He’ll have something to do after this, other than bother me.”  
  
“Praise that,” the Priestly said, and they bumped fists.  
  
“The Highblood coming to show his visage?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Nah, he’s staying hivebent, but he saw us off, friendly-style. But hey, I heard of someone else coming!”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Brother called the Sanguine. One of the martyr-cullers of the old treaty, bringing her bitching self and cullee. Said she mostly just wanted a night of free grubsitting and food. But still, worth praising the Messiahs that there will be four of us motherfuckers here.” The Priestly punched Gamzee’s arm. “Gotta keep our color together, y’know?”  
  
Gamzee smiled, then took the Priestly by the shoulder and turned him to face away from Karkat. “See, I should just get my warning on to you right now, that’s not gonna happen at a party run by the Chimeric.”  
  
“Uh…”  
  
“What’s the Mellowed doing right now?” he asked.  
  
“Shit, I wasn’t looking,” the Priestly tried to turn around, but Gamzee held him in place.  
  
“Neither was I. What do you think he’s doing?”  
  
“Kicking it with the Chimeric, like he motherfucking came here to do.”  
  
“How long ago did he split?”  
  
“Three minutes?”  
  
“Let’s check that…”  
  
Gamzee lifted the pressure on the Priestly’s shoulder and let him turn. They saw Karkat’s bright tunic, and the Mellowed’s tall horns… at least twenty feet away from each other. The Mellowed was part of a totally different group of trolls. A burgundy squinted in concentration to tie ribbons around the Mellowed’s horns with his psionics, while onlookers appreciated the spectacle. The Mellowed smiled and tried to look at his horns, eyes nearly rolling back with effort.  
  
“He’s already found a new friend way more interesting than the Chimeric,” Gamzee smiled, his leap of faith supported by Karkat’s skill.  
  
The Priestly’s jaw dropped. “What the shit? Why would he get his hang on with strangers when he came to see the Chimeric?”  
  
“Chimeric himself ain’t all that miraculous,” Gamzee answered. “His miracle is bringing out the best in people. Showing them reasons to give a shit about each other.”  
  
“Mo-ther-fuck,” the Priestly said slowly. “So… what do we do?”  
  
“Don’t do anything. There’s gonna be a ton of motherfuckers here you’ll never want to see again, but you gotta keep your pan open to the fact one of them might be your next best friend.”  
  
“So this is why he’ll be the Reformer, huh? Gonna take all of culling and replace it with words and smiles and friendship?”  
  
“Ay-yup.”  
  
The Priestly nodded slowly. “So, now that you made your point, my gossip bladder is all kinds of empty now. There anything to drink around here?”  
  
Gamzee smirked. “I brought the wicked elixir myself.”  
  


* * *

  
Gamzee had never seen the amphibiortress’ main ballroom so packed. He’d been to one or two events that needed its sprawling, sporting-event sized floor and huge vaulted ceiling, but Karkat—Guardian Chimeric—filled it with trolls of every color, region, creed, and age. Even wigglers! Gamzee definitely noticed a few excessively tiny guests, including one troll probably three sweeps old chased by an adult: “Miefra, those stones are decorative, you can’t eat them!”  
  
In time, the sheer volume of trolls forced Gamzee and Karkat very far apart. The Priestly stuck on Gamzee’s elbow, at least in this early stage where everyone was making all that noble motherfucking small talk that was just pointless anyway. Before he knew it the night would liven up and he’d find his own way to loosen up and get his groove on.   
  
The Compasse herself formally arrived, and caused her own ripples of awe and respect through the crowds. People wanted to greet her, but knew to yield, since both she and Karkat had a very important tradition to honor. Gamzee didn’t pay too great attention to the time passing, just discussing the optimal swing of a juggling club with the Priestly, until a profound hush coursed through the crowd like a pandemic. Karkat and the Compasse had taken the center of the now-cleared dance floor, hand in hand and waiting.  
  
“I present to all assembled…” some unknown but clear-voiced announcer said. “Her Radiant Compassion, and the Guardian Chimeric!”  
  
The orchestra struck up the music, and Karkat and the Compasse started a quick, graceful dance. Gamzee had heard of this tradition, for trolls to honor their mentors like this on their titling day. For warmbloods, that mentor was often a culler. He dodged a bullet, since Karkat had another culler to show gratitude toward. They danced well together; the Compasse wasn’t accustomed to following, but Karkat knew how to anticipate her instincts, her height, and her horns.  
  
A respectful amount of the song featured Karkat and the Empress, and after that other pairs and the occasional trio took the floor. Gamzee immediately recognized a tall, burly archer, and… actually, he didn’t recognize Trueshot’s partner. She had squat cone horns and olive green eyes, but her movements were smooth and fluid, and she looked completely at home in her gown, with layers of white petticoat, a green overdress, and poofy sleeves. White gloves covered hands—did she need those to not claw things? Then, with tightly curled hair and a blue sash to match her culler, it was a miracle he recognized the Mondaine at all.  
  
_Is it possible to miss a motherfucker you’ve only met once?_  he thought, but shrugged.  _I guess it is, because I do._  
  
On the other hand, he saw a person he definitely did  _not_  miss in attendance. Gamzee noticed Prospera dancing when others in the crowd made a commotion over some brilliant pair. The Marquise had a long cerulean skirt that flared wide when her partner spun her—her partner, the Benevole. Gamzee had never seen the two in the same place before. He watched them for a minute: the Benevole was the leader, orchestrating Prospera’s every move. The Marquise smiled the whole way, and  _how dare you look so happy, I KNOW WHAT YOU MOTHERFUCKING ARE—_  
  
“Everything okay, brother?” the Priestly asked. “Felt a flash of harshwhimsy from your way.”  
  
“Just got my notice on to a motherfucker who wronged me,” Gamzee answered. “By the end of tonight, it won’t even matter.”  
  
A new voice broke in from behind them: “Funny how one night can make all this shit not matter.”  
  
Gamzee and the Priestly turned to see another face painted with a big, familiar smile. “Sanguine!” the Priestly slapped her shoulders. “How’s your self, brother?”  
  
“Swinging from a goddamn trapeze,” she said. The Sanguine was a stout troll with kinked horns and very wide lips. She turned to Gamzee. “Hail, motherfucker… Or should I say Highblood?”  
  
“How about you say ‘Mirthful’ for now?” Gamzee said.  
  
“Can do, brother,” she smiled. “I’m here to celebrate you getting your leave on to this culling noise. Mighty jealous.”  
  
“Priestly said you’re a culler, too?” he asked.  
  
The Sanguine rolled her eyes and spat on the Compasse’s nice floor. “Trouble with being a brother from the East? They slapped me with a halfwit brownblood who can’t be bothered to speak Standard!”  
  
“Eastern Beforus? Chimeric speaks that.”  
  
She huffed. “Well, congrats on getting a prodigal motherfucker for your cullee. The rest of us got slopbrains and weaklings. Can’t even take a good scare, my oh-so-esteemed Camellia! What kind of motherfucking name is that?”  
  
“Is Camellia here?”  
  
“Somewhere. Why?”  
  
Gamzee shrugged and changed the subject to the Eastern Big Top—who led the devotions, what miracles did they all practice. Drivel, really. After a time, he caught out of the corner of his eye that the Mellowed had managed to secure a dance with Karkat. His idea of ‘dancing’ was to basically throw his weight into Karkat’s arms and let him do the rest, not even stepping unless Karkat dragged him. Karkat did his best to help other actually-moving trolls dance around him while he propped the dead-weight Mellowed above his own feet. When the dance was over, Karkat bowed, and led the Mellowed back to the little enclave of purpleblooded trolls.  
  
“Woah… Sanguine’s here,” the Mellowed recognized her. “Wicked shit…”  
  
Karkat gave a nod to the Priestly. “Glad you could make it,” then turned to the Sanguine. “And your reputation precedes you, Sanguine. It’s nice to meet more of the Mirthful’s motherfucking brothers in the flesh.”  
  
The Sanguine smiled. Somehow, she hadn’t expected that a troll culled by a purpleblood would know how to talk like one. “Hehe! You too, my red brother!”  
  
“Sanguine’s a culler too, but her trials have been harder than our brother the Mirthful’s,” the Priestly filled him in.  
  
“Trials?” Karkat said. “Why is culling a trial for you?”  
  
“Because my culler is a moonspeaking, lily-livered coward?” the Sanguine answered.  
  
Karkat clicked his tongue. “Help me find your cullee, will you? I think there’s at least one misunderstanding I can clear up here.”  
  
Without a word exchanged between Gamzee and Karkat, the Chimeric and Sanguine split while the Priestly and Mellowed discussed finding food. Gamzee thought that might be a good idea, but he noticed two trolls approach him: the Marquise and the Benevole. He waved his brothers on to speak with the ladies, one decidedly more noble than the other.  
  
“Mirthful, please allow me to express my congratulations on your role as a facilitator to the Chimeric’s impressive achievements,” the Benevole said, smooth and precise.  
  
“Aw, it was all the Chimeric’s doing in the end,” Gamzee waved the praise away.  
  
“From my experience, I disagree. The path to greatness requires assistance, does it not?”  
  
The Benevole glanced at Prospera, who smiled warmly at her. Something about the Marquise next to her matesprit made her look shyer, softer. When Gamzee looked closer at a jade-green choker around her neck, he found a small charm hanging from its end: the Benevole’s sign. The Benevole’s dress had a high-necked top that concealed whether or not she had Prospera’s sign, like the last time they met.  
  
“Were you thinking about the Chimeric assisting you about some motherfucking shit?” Gamzee asked, side-eying Prospera.  
  
“There you go, making assumptions!” the Marquise replied, her characteristic drawl seeping back in. “Always thinking I  _want_  something. Can’t I just  _want_ to have a good time with my matesprit?”  
  
“I am having a good time,” the Benevole reassured her flushmate. “And besides, we rarely get the chance to dress up like this together!”  
  
“Don’t we?”  
  
“Dress up and be  _seen_ , Prospera.”  
  
“Right, right…”  
  
“Are you implying that you’d like fewer occasions to dress up?”  
  
“Perhaps more occasions to be a little  _less_  dressed…”  
  
“Really now? Shall I arrange that?”  
  
Gamzee coughed. “So if both you motherfuckers are here, who’s watching the Huntsman?”  
  
The Benevole at least had the decency to look embarrassed that she’d slipped into concupiscent talk in front of an acquaintance. The Marquise seemed unrepentant, but Gamzee figured she’d never repented for a thing in her life.  
  
“The Benevole arranged for a very capable grubsitter,” Prospera answered. “It doesn’t happen often, but once in a double full moon we get to have a night of freedom like this.”  
  
“Yes, this individual has been friendly with the Huntsman for some time now, so I don’t fear for either of their safety. Your concern is appreciated,” the Mistress added. “To the earlier point, I am not certain if I will be able to speak with the Chimeric tonight, but I hope you can inform him that I would like to discuss his further ambitions as a Guardian.”  
  
“Ambitions?”  
  
“The Chimeric was accepted despite not completing the usually mandatory mediculler certification,” the Benevole smiled. “As one such certified mediculler, I would like to invite him to my clinic and make a case that such experience is necessary for an effective career as a Guardian. I would be happy to demonstrate the characteristics of ‘the ropes,’ colloquially speaking.”  
  
“Where exactly is your clinic?”  
  
“Just a few hours from here—in fact, I think it is quite nearby to one of your Cathedrals. When the moons are bright enough and the haze clears, I can just see the flags in the distance.” From that description, it had to be the Priestly’s Big Top.  
  
“Good to know, motherfuckers. If you don’t catch him tonight, I’ll pass that along,” Gamzee said. Prospera, paying very little attention to their conversation, looked somewhere over Gamzee’s shoulder.  
  
“My thanks as well…” Prospera said hastily, and Gamzee tasted it in the air—fear, and an accompanying thought:  _Don’t get caught._  “Now, darling, would you mind if I troubled you for another dance?”

With a wide smile, the Benevole bid a quick farewell to Gamzee and followed her matesprit away. He looked behind him, excited to learn what could make the Marquise flee so quickly, and very soon identified the source.  
  
She was tall, she was teal, and with her wide, sharktooth grin, she had to be at least a little crazy. Her white jacket had a stripe the color of her blood running from neck to navel, with gold buttons the whole way like a column of soldiers. She wore her sign rendered in red, symbolically rather than literally, with the bar resting across her hips and the arch looping around her waist. The Vigilant Lawscale had arrived.  
  
Shit, Karkat needed to know! Gamzee looked around and saw him leaving the dance floor, but briskly heading the opposite direction. Following his path, Gamzee noticed the Mondaine nearby, bidding farewell to one partner and quickly being mobbed with four more. She covered her mouth elegantly, and selected a new dancer before Karkat reached her. He wasn’t left hanging, since one of the guests declined by the Mondaine changed her sights to Karkat instead, and they paired off.  
  
That all boiled down to Karkat being occupied… but his idol was in the room! Gamzee couldn’t let her get lost or distracted! He wove through the crowd to reach Lawscale, who did not acknowledge his approach until he spoke. “Lawscale, am I right? Most blessed of miracles to see you.”  
  
“Someone who speaks of miracles, with sweet grape syrup blood and a painted face, who is  _happy_  to see me,” the Vigilant summarized. “You must be the Mirthful, culler of the Chimeric. An honor to meet you.”  
  
Gamzee laughed. “Nice parlor trick, lawsister. Though you got a one in four chance of guessing which purple motherfucker here is me.”  
  
“I don’t need to play games of chance when a little deduction can give me with the truth. Your biggest tell was the fact you greeted me at all. I don’t think my name is widely known among minstrelisters, unless that minstrelister spent a few sweeps surrounded by culling reform activists. Who but the Mirthful matches that description?”  
  
“Maybe I just thought you were a bitchtitty hottie and I guessed your name.”  
  
“Maybe it’s pointless to speculate on false interpretations of reality,” Lawscale brushed some of her hair behind her ear. “Unless you intended to weave a complement into these musings, in which case, consider it accepted.”  
  
Even now, Lawscale had yet to meet Gamzee’s eyes. He couldn’t quite tell where her gaze rested behind her red shades, but from the tilt of her head it had to be slightly below his face, either dead ahead, to the side, or down. Just like when he first saw her at a distance, she presented herself as passive and demure, even though her forthright words blazed like Karkat’s. Maybe she tried to throw her opponents off guard?  
  
“Chimeric got your note,” Gamzee changed the subject. “Wore it back into wood pulp with how tightly he held it.”  
  
“He followed my advice, and that’s what matters.”  
  
“Hope he doesn’t burst a blood vessel, meeting you.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Is he worried about something?”  
  
“Meeting you for the first time.”  
  
“But we’ve already met.”  
  
“When?”  
  
“When he read my articles, and when I received his letters.”  
  
“I mean like, face-on-face. The first time you’re gonna have an in-person conversation.”  
  
Lawscale smiled again. “I could choose to think of this as our first meeting and torture myself with the anxiety of crafting a good first impression, or I can recognize that he knows me very well in ways I can’t imagine, and just be myself.”  
  
Gamzee chuckled. “All these interpersonal masteries you got going on… Motherfuck, if you and the Chimeric had two hours in a block you would crack every mystery of the troll think pan.”  
  
“Now that is  _definitely_  a complement. Thank you.”  
  
“Just to let you know, Chimeric is definitely on the first half of that choice. The torture-anxiety side.”  
  
Lawscale laughed, nasal yet melodious, and a little bit dangerous. “I know. It’s adorable.”  
  
“LS!”  
  
A familiar troll wearing the yellow Delegate’s coat of the API approached, two-tone eyes locked on Lawscale. The Vigilant slightly twitched in the direction of Twinhorn’s call, a completely different kind of smile breaking on her face.  
  
“Aww yeah, I knew I’d find honey in this hive!” she raised her hand beside her head. “Up top, radi-cullee!”  
  
Twinhorn’s palm connected with Lawscale’s high-five. In a movement so fast and fluid Gamzee nearly missed it, their arms intertwined as they lowered, leaving his hand on her elbow. He wiggled his eyebrows at Twinhorn, who turned yellow but didn’t budge from Lawscale’s side.  
  
“So what’s going on over here?” he asked the cullers.  
  
“We were discussing the endlessly entertaining ways that the Chimeric likes to torment himself,” Lawscale said.  
  
“Oh yeah! Fuck, like becoming a Guardian in a half-sweep? They didn’t even ask that of the Delegation. We just each took a piece of the training, got to take a whole sweep, and it still kicked our asses. Trying to do it all nearly killed him, didn’t it?”  
  
Gamzee nodded. “It wasn’t a motherfucking pastry stroll for a while there, no.”  
  
“Just be honest! He nearly died, didn’t he?”  
  
“Slept like he was dead for three nights after.”  
  
“Knew it. What a moron,” Twinhorn complained, but he hadn’t stopped smiling since he took Lawscale’s arm.  _What happened to that strong, independent warmblood who didn’t need no culler?_  
  
“So how long have you been culling him?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“She stopped culling me after the API got traction,” Twinhorn jumped. “The psionics cull each other now, she stopped culling me… three sweeps ago? Little less. So yeah. Not my culler.”  
  
“I  _was_  his culler for eight,” Lawscale answered the question as posed. “Culling services classified him as a direct culling case at five, but apart from a few environmental accommodations, he barely needed my help. Which was useful, since things get a little hectic when a case is about to be presented before Her Radiance. Part of what made culling him so completely awesome.”  
  
Gold dusted Twinhorn’s cheeks.  _Motherfucker, does she even know how happy it makes you to hear that?_  
  
“Okay, next question, how old are you now?” Gamzee asked Twinhorn.  
  
“Sixteen. It’s so fucking perfect.”  
  
“Bitchin’. I’m a hundred and twelve.”  
  
“Bitching! Man, that’s like four twos, until you get a seven which is bullshit.”  
  
“Aw, don’t be hating all up on the seven, it’s just being the best number it motherfucking can…”  
  
Lawscale laughed. “Excuse me, am I in danger of transforming into the extraneous wheel?”  
  
“Nah, I said my piece. I’m out,” Gamzee raised his hands in surrender. “I mostly thought I could keep you occupied until the Chimeric realized you had arrived.”  
  
“Where is the prodigal Guardian, in this sea of trolls?” she asked.  
  
Twinhorn bowed close to Lawscale’s ear. “On your nine-thirty. He’s near the orchestra and an entrance to the grounds. But I think we just missed him again, shit…”  
  
Lawscale turned her head, and Gamzee matched it, quickly finding Karkat again from Twinhorn’s direction. He watched a familiar scene replay: Karkat, trying and failing to reach the Mondaine.  _She’s more popular than last sweep._  
  
“Maybe next time,” Gamzee said. “But I should let you know, if he doesn’t get the chance to speak with you before he leaves for his Guardian duty shit, then the motherfucker is probably gonna keel over dead.”  
  
“Far be it from me to assassinate our first scarletblooded Guardian with my negligence,” Lawscale replied. “A pleasure to meet you, Mirthful.”  
  
Gamzee stepped away, leaving Lawscale and Twinhorn to talk about whatever they wanted, but curiosity and impulse made him pause. Lawscale was aqua; hardly a warmblood, but with a great enough distance from Gamzee’s purple that he should be able to get a small read… If he just focused…  
  
_Don’t get caught._  
  
He blinked. Prospera, the criminal favor trader, feared capture. What could Lawscale fear getting caught about? Oh, it would break the little bro’s heart if he found out that Lawscale was some kind of dirty Vigilant. But, maybe it was something else. Gamzee thought back to the night of stargazing on the hill with Twinhorn. When the psionic caught Gamzee running his fingers through Karkat’s hair affectionately, he barely batted an eye. Could something exist between the two of them that they needed to hide?  
  
Gamzee pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. For a devotee of the chucklevoodoos and all the whimsical terrors they contained, he had to stop letting paranoia get the better of his pan. Just because he was a pedophile didn’t mean everyone else was.  
  
Well. What else was going around this giant-ass motherfucking party of stuffed shirts and stuffier appearances? The whole hemospectrum was rocking it tonight. He caught sight of the Compasse and Seafarer on the dance floor. They seemed very contained, compared to other couples, with the Compasse leading very tiny steps that the Seafarer matched down to the millimeter. He thought he could see their lips moving, too. Poor motherfuckers. He hoped that their tiny little dance was a product of airing out some pale grievances and getting their reconcile on.  
  
He touched the long-since cleaned patch on his cheek where the Compasse kissed him. He had a sneaking suspicion that she already felt a quadrant toward him, and it wasn’t any kind that Gamzee wanted to tangle his life in, especially not given his history with a certain other troll that could be impacted. Time to find something else to do.  
  
Let’s see… How about Gamzee’s brothers? The Mellowed had done what his name implied and found a seat around the edge of the festivities. The same burgundy that Gamzee had shown to the Priestly was back. He had taken an emptied stemmed glass and twisted it about in the air. The Mellowed watched the movement of the glass and nodded along with the music. It took a little longer to find the Priestly, but had found a conversation partner of his own, and they at least looked civil. As for his latest acquaintance, the Sanguine…  
  
The Sanguine was near a refreshment’s table, taking samples of anything fluid: sauces, spreads, drink, and creams. With a full plate, she bounded across the room toward a troll in a mocha-colored dress, with straight hair and rather small horns with nice points, like Troll Drew Barrymore. The other troll had soiled napkins littered around her, each a different color, that she picked up and used to dab on the walls. Half a mural spread out before her: lots of flowers and vine patterns, and a few Eastern Beforan characters in the middle. When the Sanguine rejoined this troll—by now obviously the Camellia—she had a face-splitting smile on her face, and the two poured over the new paint samples to decide what color to use next.  
  
A believer wouldn’t be so hyped to paint on the wall of the royal palace unless it was something rude. That believer wouldn’t have bothered with such an elaborate mural unless the Chimeric requested it. And the Chimeric would only have permitted it if the Sanguine agreed to let Camellia participate.  
  
_Nice one, little bro._  
  
Alright. So it wasn’t worth disturbing his brothers for a little bit of entertainment. And from everyone he’d met so far, only one motherfucker remained on ‘the list,’ which wasn’t a thing before Gamzee started thinking about motherfuckers he wanted to see. He remembered the Mondaine of last sweep, wild and awkward and bright and funny, and though he saw a troll with her horns and face he wanted to know if she was really in there somewhere.

He had to wait until the end of the latest song, but when the feeding frenzy came for the Mondaine again, Gamzee had one great advantage: a subtle aura of terror that made everyone else think twice about approaching the belle of the ball. The Mondaine tensed and curled her lips at him—the first hint of her old self Gamzee had seen—but it passed when Gamzee let the feeling go.  
  
“Welcome back to this motherfucking carnival, kittysis,” Gamzee said.  
  
“Oh! I didn’t recognize you at first,” the Mondaine smiled. Her snarly accent and atrocious grammar from last sweep had been completely smoothed away. “It’s good to see you again, Mirthful.”  
  
“Mind if I’m the motherfucker who asks you up on the floor next?”  
  
The Mondaine smiled—still sincere, but smaller. Gamzee wondered if someone had told her she smiled too big. “That sounds delightful.”  
  
The Mondaine had gotten exponentially better at dancing since they last met. Gamzee hadn’t. As usual, he faked his way through, while the Mondaine did her best to cover for his mistakes. She still felt strong in his arms, but all the muscles associated with walking upright were far more developed.  
  
“How you been?” Gamzee asked her.  
  
“Quite well, thank you,” she answered.  
  
“Did you call Trueshot ‘motherfucker’ to show you cared?”  
  
“Sorry about that, but I never got the chance.”  
  
“Awww, shit,” he frowned.  
  
“It slipped my mind after my… less-than-graceful exit of last sweep’s party. And between when you told me and I next remembered, I learned its true definition.” She smirked. “It’s not nice to play pranks on trolls lesser than you.”  
  
“Who’s the lesser motherfucker here? You could claw my face off.”  
  
“I would never!”  
  
“But you could!”  
  
“No, I couldn’t!”  
  
“You ever clawed a thing’s face off before?”  
  
“No, I—oh,” she stopped. “Well, yes, I have, but we shouldn’t be talking about that here!”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“It’s improper!”  
  
“I just really wanna know, why did you claw a motherfucker’s face off?”  
  
“It was a cholebear stalking Pounce, can we please stop discussing this?”  
  
Curiosity sated, Gamzee backed off. “What have you been talking with all the other motherfuckers about?”  
  
“It’s been… very repetitive,” she admitted. She raised and lowered her voice, like having a conversation with herself. “‘Esteemed Mondaine, pleased to meet you!’ Oh, the feeling is mutual. ‘You are pretty as a moonbeam tonight!’ You’re too kind. ‘Would you like me to tell you about my job or my hobby? You’ll find it fascinating!’ Oh, I’m sure it will… or at least, I say I will, because it’s not their fault that they all sound the same.”  
  
“Hell yeah it’s their fault! All these trolls like you and none of them thought about finding a way to stand out from the crowd?”  
  
The Mondaine took a moment to consider this. “I suppose… I like to imagine the things they aren’t telling me,” she said. “Like perhaps they are an imperial spy who wants my help protecting state secrets. Or maybe they are a time traveler, trying to pretend they belong to this era. Or that they are a roarbeast pretending to be a troll, like I was a troll pretending to be a roarbeast.”  
  
“You have got a wickedly vivid motherfucking imagination,” Gamzee laughed. “Do you tell all this shit to Trueshot?”  
  
“Most of it, yes. He debunks most every story I tell, but he secretly likes it,” she smiled, this time broader. “I don’t understand why you think ill of him. He’s a kind soul.”  
  
“He can be a kind soul and a bastard at the same motherfucking time. I’m glad you still think he’s the wickedest shit.”  
  
The Mondaine took a breath to say something else, but on Gamzee’s next step he all but crushed her foot beneath his own. She hissed and backed away, but her other ankle rolled as she tried to retreat. A few people stared, but after hushed apologies and reassurances, the Mondaine resumed dancing with him.  
  
“I hate these shoes,” she spat under her breath.  
  
“They new or some shit?”  
  
“No matter how much I wear them they never break in right. I hate wearing them.”  
  
“What kind of shoes do you wanna wear?”  
  
“None at all,” she sighed, wistful. “But one of our neighbors is hosting a get-together tomorrow, and later that same day there’s a concert, and the next day an exhibit at the museum…”  
  
“Shit, you’re a busy buzzbeast wearing all those goddamn shoes,” Gamzee said. “Can’t you take a break?”  
  
“I couldn’t! These people want to see me so badly. This is what it means to be part of society, and have friends. You have been a spectator to all of the Chimeric’s events in the last sweep, haven’t you? He understands how important it is to be seen.”  
  
“Well yeah, he’s the motherfucker who likes being seen. But I’m usually unseen. Rarely a motherfucker even notices I’m there when there’s the little bro to talk to.”  
  
The Mondaine’s green eyes widened, and she peered up at Gamzee through her lashes. “…Really?”  
  
“Swear by the Messiahs. And I can still get friendships on with other motherfuckers without being the center of all that goddamn attention.”  
  
She bit her lower lip and looked away. Figuring she had a lot to think about on her own, Gamzee finished out the dance without another word. He caught sight of Karkat near the edge of the dance, and pushed the limits of his rhythmic spacial navigation skills to ensure that he ended the dance right in front of Karkat, where he could smoothly suggest that the two of them connect.  
  
“Chimeric, congratulations on your achievement,” the Mondaine told him. “The Guardians will be honored to accept you, I know.”  
  
“Thank you—in his own way, Trueshot was a notable inspiration for why I wanted to become a Guardian,” Karkat answered. Gamzee covered his mouth to suppress a smile.  _Did he inspire you by being hemoist trash?_  “Now, I had planned to invite you to dance, but others have exhausted me for the time being. Could I interest you in some time spent sitting? Perhaps outside?” He offered his hand.  
  
“I have been missing the starlight recently,” the Mondaine agreed and accepted.  
  
“Have fun, motherfuckers,” Gamzee said, and Karkat smirked at him, just a little glance before he left. Watching them exit left an oddly hollow ache in his blood pusher; he knew he cared about Karkat as a moirail, but the feeling of watching a quadrantmate leave was… doubled?  
  
_Fuck this. Fuck this shit, FUCK ALL THIS MOTHERFUCKING SHIT, fuck everything, BUT MOST OF MOTHERFUCKING ALL FUCK ME._  
  
He found himself a glass and some ice, and poured his own lukewarm Faygo over it. Almost like a bear preparing to hibernate, Gamzee tucked himself away at the edge of the party and blended in with the wall and the furniture, sipping his soda and watching the party. He noticed Twinhorn again, sharing a dance with Lawscale. He saw the Marquise and Seafarer standing next to each other, while she said something that the Seafarer looked like he was trying to ignore. The Benevole had managed to hold a small audience with the Compasse—their combined beauty was nearly painful to look at. The Priestly had found a small audience to start playing tiny miracles, like card and coin tricks, falling into his natural role of a leader of raucous devotions. The Mellowed was macking on his burgundyblooded friend now, ribbon still tied around his horns. And the Sanguine and Camellia had finished their mural and stood nearby, receiving complements for their impressive, impromptu mural… and then giggling together when people turned away.  _Yep, rude word._  
  
He saw Karkat come back. Alone. His return did not go unnoticed for long, but Gamzee roused himself from his plain-sight hiding place and found his way to Karkat’s shoulder.  
  
“Little bro.”  
  
“Hey. Everything cool?”  
  
“Where’s the Mondaine?”  
  
“Nature called,” he said, off-handed. “She’ll be back.”  
  
Gamzee nodded. Okay, fair enough. And it wasn’t like any of the other motherfuckers in the place remembered that even fine ladies need the load gaper every once in a while. “You seen Lawscale yet?”  
  
“No, is she here yet? It’s getting late.”  
  
“Spoke to her.”  
  
Karkat’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. Fuck. Oh my fucking god, you  _spoke_  to her?!”  
  
“Sure did, motherfucker.”  
  
“Have—have you seen her since? Is she still around?”  
  
“Yeah, Twinhorn’s on that.”  
  
“Twinhorn? Why?”  
  
Gamzee patted Karkat on the back. “Maybe find a moment to catch up with Twinhorn before you go all sliding up to Lawscale? Just to make sure you’ve got your chill on by the time you talk to her.”  
  
“Mirthful, can you drop the shitty clown riddles for once? Why is it so important to see Twinhorn before Lawscale?”  
  
“Just because he’s got a thing about her he needs to up and tell you, and that’s really all there is to say on the matter,” Gamzee said. “For my own curiosities, can you tell me about that magical mural the Sanguine and Camellia put all up on the wall?”  
  
Karkat looked that direction, then snorted. “So they actually did it. Nice.”  
  
“What’s it say?”  
  
“It’s the word Camellia most associates with the Sanguine. ‘Motherfucker.’ No exact translation exists in the Eastern dialects, but it carries the same sentiment.”  
  
“So you’re letting them paint all this rudeness on your big motherfucking day? You’re okay with this?”  
  
“It doesn’t hurt me for them to paint the easily cleaned walls, and they’ll understand each other better after. The best way they could honor me is to get over themselves and be friends.”  
  
Gamzee smiled. He could never quite forget how much of a schemer Karkat was in so many ways. He wanted to ask something else on this topic, but Gamzee sensed another troll nearby, waiting for her chance to cut in. Looking closer, that troll was the Benevole, hands folded and spine straight and somehow master of the art of standing on the fringes and not being awkward. Best give her what she came for: she had to convince the busy Guardian Chimeric to visit her clinic, and knowing Karkat he’d probably be receptive to the idea.  
  
“I’m gonna let you go get your groove on with some more motherfuckers,” Gamzee told him. “Just remember, Twinhorn first, then Lawscale.”  
  
“Fine, fine,” Karkat dismissed, turning to the Benevole.  
  
Gamzee settled himself back in an unassuming alcove and resumed troll-watching. Compasse, occupied as ever, Seafarer seemed to be trying to chat someone up and failing. He remembered Trueshot had to be around here somewhere, but honestly talking to him wasn’t his idea of a good time. Then there was Lawscale, seated to the side with a glass of punch and a stranger in a very similar coat—another Vigilant. Law talk, at a party? Whatever helped her seagoing vessels to attain buoyancy. Mondaine was still missing. So was Prospera.  
  
It took some time for Karkat to make his way there, but Gamzee saw him approach Twinhorn, and he smiled. This was gonna be good.  
  
Karkat greeted. Twinhorn returned. Small talk, small talk, Twinhorn puffed up, API’s doing awesome. Same-color culling is great, bluh bluh. Then Karkat leaned closer, more secretive—“Don’t look, but Lawscale is here,” or something—and Twinhorn scratched his nose. Karkat asked a question. Twinhorn stalled. Karkat asked harder. Twinhorn snapped at him. Placate, placate; calm down so you can tell me what I want to know. Twinhorn holds up two fingers—always with the twos—and lectured. Karkat nodded, and urged Twinhorn along. Then Twinhorn said six syllables. Karkat’s jaw dropped. His eyes bugged and his claws twitched, like he couldn’t tell if he wanted to gouge his own eyes out or strangle Twinhorn. Twinhorn finally laughed, and patted Karkat on the head.  
  
As the two of them hunched over, speaking more conspiratorially about something, Gamzee heard a voice beside him. “Excuse me, but I am in need of your assistance.”  
  
Gamzee looked over at the sweaty face of a certain Guardian Trueshot. “Sorry, I’m too busy being a motherfucking disgrace over here. Can’t be of no help to any bluebloods at all.”  
  
“Please cease your insincere teasing. I am serious.”  
  
“Fuck, what’s up?”  
  
“Have you seen the Mondaine?”  
  
“Yeah, I danced her around a little, then she talked with the Chimeric.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
“Had to use the gaper.”  
  
“How long ago was that?”  
  
…A fairly long time, now that Gamzee thought about it. But kind soul or not, he felt disinclined to help. “I mean, I had my wicked zone on over here, so I don’t think I got a good judge to how many clock-ticks it’s been.”  
  
“Useless, as usual,” Trueshot muttered. “Then I shall require assistance searching for her.”  
  
“Call the reinforcementers.”  
  
“I do not wish to cause a commotion. Are you willing to assist me or not?”  
  
Gamzee groaned. “Look, bro, you’re overreacting. Just stick around, I’ve got some curiosities I think you might got answers to.”  
  
“If I answer, will you help me find the Mondaine?”  
  
_No._  “Maybe.”  
  
“What is it.”  
  
“You had a vote to cast about our new Guardian. Which side did you choose?”  
  
“I opposed his acceptance.”  
  
“Fucker.”  
  
“It was not a decision rooted in prejudice,” Trueshot frowned harder at Gamzee. “I disagree with his entire paradigm on the most fundamental level possible. It is not acceptable—under any circumstances—to allow trolls to come to harm. His philosophy includes a distressing number of loopholes meant to allow freedom, but I see hundreds of ways they will end in disaster. Satisfied?”  
  
“Can you really work with a motherfucker if you got such a deep-seated conviction that the motherfucker don’t got any right being in your culler club?”  
  
“Why are you so concerned with the etiquette of Guardians?”  
  
“Why are you so concerned where the Mondaine is? Maybe she found some ninjalicious babe or stud and she’s out getting herself a quadrant. You gonna bust in, bow drawn, on her about to pile or pail?”  
  
Trueshot’s face filled with deep blue, and the sweat on his forehead dripped a little faster. “I… We… have not discussed appropriate quadranting conduct.”  
  
“Too late to tell her about the it all now, motherfucker,” Gamzee taunted. If the bastard got sweaty enough he might leave Gamzee alone. “Let her be her own troll for a night! Twenty-four hours, then you can flip your fucking shit all up in this bitchtits. Or are you gonna show up right when she got her hands on a motherfucker… All grinding up on their bulge, or papping on their face—”  
  
With veritable rivers running down his face, the intimidated Guardian left Gamzee alone, muttering about “disgusting language” as he no doubt ignored Gamzee’s advice and kept looking for his cullee. His loss, when he finds the Mondaine having makeouts so sloppy they’ll need a janitorial crew to clean up after it. He was mostly grateful Trueshot hadn’t asked him to dance.  
  
A fresh song started, and Gamzee got his zone on while staring at the dance floor and the motherfuckers on it. Indeterminate time passed until something caught his attention like a poacher with the meanest jaw trap on the whole planet.  
  
Karkat had found Lawscale. They decided to dance, he as the leader and she as the follow. He held her gently, more gently than Gamzee had ever seen him hold a thing in his life, but not gently like she was glass. He held her gently like a weapon. Lawscale, for her part, matched every direction with strong, fluid movements, like she knew what Karkat wanted her to do before he even directed the move. She still wouldn’t look at him—no flushed eye-gazing to be had—but Karkat didn’t look at her either, watching the floor over her shoulder as they danced.  
  
_This is what a happily ever after feels like… right? You got bigger and fought hard and slew the monster and now you’ve got the girl. The happiest of ever afters, right?_  Gamzee thought.  
  
Then why did he feel so sad?  
  
He left the ballroom without a word to anyone. He wouldn't miss much, and anyone who needed him knew how to get him. But he had only 24 hours left as Karkat’s culler. If he started dwelling on the end, he’d never see another sunset. Best pretend it’s not the end; then he won’t be able to scare himself into anything rash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHIMERIC. RISE UP. ======>


	37. CHIMERIC. RISE UP.

Tomorrow became today. All of Gamzee’s possessions were already shipped away or packed, leaving a bare and empty block. Karkat had a few suitcases worth of things, assuming he’d be back to the palace eventually. He still had the luxury to fuss with whether or not he wanted to bring this sweater and leave that book.  
  
“You’re sticking with the kurta?” Gamzee noticed as he surveyed Karkat’s packing.  
  
Though it had been worn last night, the crimson tunic stayed fresh and presentable, so Karkat donned it again. “I like it. I learned to stop hiding my blood color sweeps ago. I won’t let the Guardians forget for a single second that I’m off-spectrum.”  
  
He smiled. “You’ll be great, bro. Go down in history and all that noise.”  
  
“That’s the plan.”  
  
…What was Gamzee’s plan? All the blustery statements he made about Karkat needing a hobby so he’d leave Gamzee alone were totally backwards. He had to recommend a new heir to the Highblood, but once he did that, what next? He’d have at least eight hundred more sweeps to live.  
  
Alone.  
  
“I should go,” Gamzee said. “Y’know… long trip.”  
  
“Right, right. I shouldn’t keep you,” Karkat said. He closed up a suitcase and nodded at Gamzee. “I’ll look you up in a sweep or two.”  
  
“That’d be the shit’s bitchtits, motherfucker,” he answered. He wanted to hug Karkat one last time, feel the hot and humming force of his blood cradled up against his chest, but he had to let Karkat decide. If Karkat wanted that from him…  
  
Karkat waved. “Goodbye, then.”  
  
Gamzee nodded. “Bye.”  
  
He stepped out of the block. The instant the door shut behind him, a strange falling sensation welled up in him, like he was a marionette and someone had sliced all of his strings at once. He was plummeting and standing all at the same time, and even the floor felt like it was rolling under his feet.  
  
He tottered down the hall in an abysmal mockery of walking. Each step threatened to trip him and knock him on his face. When he arrived at the hall where he first waited for the Compasse, before he even knew who or what Karkat was, the dried plant matter broke the humpbeast’s back. His knees gave out completely and he crashed to the floor, eyes and throat burning with unshed tears. He was a believer at heart. He believed in so much, in more than was smart, but if he went back to a place where all he had was the distant Messiahs, if the only color he saw was blood on the walls, if he had to live his sweeps sealed in a coffin—  
  
_It’s over. It’s all motherfucking over… Chimeric…_  
  
Something warm, fuzzy, and breathing bumped his head. He lifted it and stared straight into the eyeless face of a snow-white lioness. He shouted and crawled backwards, eyes locked on the animal. A roarbeast—a motherfucking roarbeast in the palace halls! Holy motherfucking fuck, where did it come from!?  
  
The lion licked the back of its paw with an alien-green tongue, smoothed it over one ear, and then turned to walk away. It showed its back half as it moved. Its fur thinned out, and at the middle, the exposed skin turned white and scaly. The scales continued onto taloned claws, an armored underbelly, and ridged spines, until the dragon’s eyeless face came into view. When it turned all the way around and hid its other half, Gamzee might have called the creature a whole dragon in the first place.  
  
“Chimera,” he breathed.  _It’s real._  
  
The dragon’s face smiled wide, like it was laughing. He could just imagine what that laugh sounded like: nasal yet melodious, and a little bit dangerous.  
  
And then the creature disappeared. Its silhouette remained, like a hole in reality, showing him the interior of a very familiar block. The window grew and in the blink of an eye, consumed Gamzee’s surroundings and deposited him, crouched in a crab-walk pose, on the floor of the respite block he had just left.  
  
“Fuck!” Gamzee whipped his head around, struggling to get his bearings. His pan registered a consciousness nearby, gripped in the throes of terror.  
  
_—fire, death, rivers of blood; screaming, crying, dying; children, maiming and murdering, each other, themselves—_  
  
“Little bro?!” Gamzee looked for Karkat and found him slumped against the wall, cradling his head while his pan fizzled like radio static, flicking rapidly between scenes of fire raining from the sky and blood in every color. He flipped himself over and crawled Karkat’s direction. “What happened?”  
  
Karkat reached out a hand blindly. Gamzee raised his to meet it, and Karkat pressed down on his former culler, like he was trying to stand up. Gamzee helped him to his feet while he fought to take deep breaths.  
  
_—everything destroyed; tattered brown wings; hives burning; rusty blood on gold bangles; a single taper candle, lit; cities reduced to ash; a second lit taper; a bleeding tongue on a black glove; oceans ablaze; three lit tapers; green blood dripping from an ear—_  
  
“I’m here, I’m right here…” Gamzee hushed. He had sworn he would never again touch Karkat like this, but when he had a pan full of nightmares like this what else was he supposed to do? “Listen, just get your listen on…”  
  
_—_ _Yellow tears, teal tears; four tapers; the Compasse staring at the sky; five tapers, no tapers; a monstrous metal beast; one taper; RECKONING; two tapers; a glowing girl; three tapers, four, five, none—_  
  
The mental imagery gradually faded into just candles, lighting and extinguishing themselves. Karkat’s thoughts sank back down into the unknowable void, and he lifted his face.  
  
“You’re… back?” Karkat stammered.  
  
“Yeah, uh—bro, I saw the chimera. It stopped me and… did some kinda transportalization thing.”  
  
Karkat nodded, twitchy. “I saw it, too. As soon as you left. Showed me…  _that._  All of that.”  
  
“Nightmares? Visions?”  
  
“A future,” Karkat said. “I can’t—I can’t let it happen…”  
  
“What?”  
  
Hands still trembling, Karkat pulled away from Gamzee and strode to the door. “I’m going to stop the future.”

* * *

  
Once, when Gamzee was four, he tried to keep his lusus from going back to sea by throwing a rope around his horns and holding tight. The massive seagoat pulled him along like a doll on a string, but Gamzee had the good sense to realize when he was beat and let go.  
  
He couldn’t let go of Karkat. Even with no rope, no ocean, Gamzee followed helplessly as he stormed through the halls and up to a set of double-doors he’d never seen before. Karkat flung them open like they had personally insulted his blood, his favorite movie, and Lawscale all at once. Gamzee had half a second to take stock of the room’s occupants—the Compasse, the Seafarer, and a large number of Governors and advisors—before Karkat opened his mouth.  
  
“ _All forms of culling must be abolished IMMEDIATELY!_ ” Karkat’s bold voice echoed in the chamber as he nearly stomped his way to the end of their debate table. All eyes immediately locked on him.  
  
“G—Guardian Chimeric!” someone started. “I thought you had already left!”  
  
“There’s been an interruption. And a change of plans, effective immediately,” Karkat explained, which did nothing to actually clarify the matter. “The fate of our species is oblivion if we continue culling each other.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” one said.  
  
“I’ve been visited by the chimera, and it shared with me a vision of the future.”  
  
“That’s impossible,” the Seafarer sneered. “First of all, chimera don’t exist.”  
  
Gamzee raised a hand. “So, I know I tend to get my believe on to things without much sense, but this motherfucker is pretty real. I saw it in the palace, did some kinda teleport magic thing. The rest of it, better listen to my good bro here, cuz I don’t motherfucking know what’s going on.”  
  
Karkat nodded approval, but barely glanced at Gamzee. “The chimera is not just real. It is an omnipotent and omniscient beast guiding our evolution—it could be called the first Guardian of Beforus. This creature visited me once before, and this is the second time I’ve seen it.”  
  
“And it told you about our future?” someone asked skeptically.  
  
“It showed me a vision of the main events and their disastrous consequences. To prevent it, we must end culling  _now_.”  
  
“But we can’t end culling! Society would fall apart!”  
  
“Listen!” Karkat raised his voice again, and the bubbling protest silenced. “The next heiress will herald the End Times.” As he spoke, fragments of images that Gamzee hadn’t been able to pinpoint in Karkat’s head came into focus. He saw a little pink grub with a puff of hair and tiny horns, curved like the Empress’s. “She is not suited to the throne—which will serve her well, but ruin the rest of us. Five sweeps after her hatching, she will abdicate as Heiress and flee.”  
  
Karkat had seen that too: a child with two long braids sprinting across the palace courtyard and crawling under the same hole Karkat had once used to escape the palace at almost the same age.  
  
The hall erupted. “Impossible!”  
  
“That can’t be!”  
  
“Five sweeps—the Deep Abdication will be in progress!”  
  
Gamzee glanced at the Empress, face still as stone.  
  
“The chain of succession will be the least of our worries. Shortly after she runs, a rain of meteors will destroy the planet, slay the Mother Grub, and leave all survivors to die in a wasteland.” The images played in Karkat’s mind as described, except he included a vision of the Compasse, kneeling in shallow water and watching the flaming sky while a furtive silhouette clad in black robes stood behind her.  
  
“So ending culling will stop the apocalypse?!”  
  
“No.  _We_  will all die, but there will be a few survivors: children, from across the hemospectrum. Ten or so. They will survive by escaping the universe. But if they are saddled with the the baggage of our broken social order and its countless injustices, then the sacrifice of our planet will be meaningless. The survivors will be unprepared to resurrect our race from the ashes. We will be extinct forever.”  
  
“But why are you telling us this?” another said. “Surely you should advise the Guardians on this, so reforms can—”  
  
“Reforms won’t be fast enough!” Karkat cut him off. “We need immediate abolition of all culling!”  
  
“But your own thesis said—!”  
  
“I wrote that thesis before I knew the world was going to end! Egalitarianism will not be enough, same-color culling will not be enough, traditional culling will sure as fuck not be enough! Culling must end NOW!”  
  
“Then what will we do instead!?”  
  
“Anything! Something that will force us to grow!”  
  
Voices overlapped in the chamber as trolls protested. Even faces Gamzee had seen in Karkat’s court—as devoted to egalitarianism as any governing troll could be—cried against him. He saw the Seafarer look bemused, but oddly satisfied, like he expected something of this magnitude to go wrong.  
  
Karkat pointed directly to the Compasse. “Your Radiance! Listen to me! You took a hiveless orphan grub and protected him because you believed that grub’s life had inherent value. Let me repay you with this warning! Our race faces extinction, but you have the power to create hope for the future! Just let the cullees go!”  
  
“We can’t—”  
  
“We’ll never—”  
  
“They’ll die—”  
  
Karkat slammed his fists on the end of the table. “Answer me, Compasse! The only decision that matters is yours! I swear, this is the way to save our people! We will hurt, but we will grow and uncover powers we never knew we had! Psychics, psionics, untapped potential—everything will change! But we need to be strong enough to let it happen! Listen to me, Compasse!  _Let the cullees go!_ ”  
  
The Compasse didn’t move, let alone speak. Her advisors continued to try and argue Karkat all at the same time.  
  
“Are you listening!? This is the only way!  _Let the cullees go! LET THEM GO!_ ”  
  
The Empress stood, and all speech ended as every eye turned to her. She took a deep breath.  
  
“For sweeps, I hoped that you could be persuaded toward moderation,” the Queen said. “That hope is dead now. You and your philosophy are a danger to us all. Millions will certainly die if we abolish culling, even before your impossible apocalypse. This is my decision: culling will continue!”  
  
“You can’d do this! The ultimate fate of our species—!”  
  
“I will give you one last chance!” the Compasse cut him off. "Forswear these visions, join the Guardians, and you will have the power you earned to reform the system. If you do not, then you will be branded a traitor and punished as a corrupt Guardian. Chimeric, recant or face the consequences!”  
  
Karkat turned his back on the Compasse and everyone—Gamzee saw the red rage and pain and a bit of fear deep in his eyes—and watched him storm out into the hallway once more. Like a leaf on the wind, Gamzee moved to follow him, but the Compasse called, “Mirthful!”   
  
He looked back at her as she wove around the assembled advisors. Her hair and silks billowed behind her as she moved. When she reached Gamzee, she took one of his hands in both of hers, bowed, and pressed his knuckles against her forehead.  
  
“Please…” she whispered. “If he makes me fight him, I will, but I don’t want to…  _please_ , he trusts you…  _I_  trust you… Mediate, please…”  
  
Gamzee looked over her head at the dignitaries, some polite souls turning their eyes away from this ashen display while others gawked. It wasn’t every day the Empress solicited someone for a quadrant. He pulled his hand back and eased the Compasse to stand.  
  
“That’s not—I mean, I don’t feel—fuck it,” Her eyes swam with pink tears, shoving a spike of guilt through his blood pusher. But it wasn’t his fault the chimera’s revelation made Karkat snap! “…I’ll protect him. Okay? Like we said the first time around. Until he dies.”  
  
The Compasse looked confused—it wasn’t what she asked for, so did it count as good news?—but Gamzee gave her a thumbs up and left in Karkat’s wake.  
  
He correctly guessed that Karkat had returned to his block, tearing open a packed rucksack and re-filling it for a much shorter journey. The fear still ran strong in his veins, but candles in his mind, lighting and blowing out, kept him on task.  
  
“You gonna recant, bro?” Gamzee asked.  
  
“Never.” Excess clothing, random journals, out out out, but the worn leather faces of his chimera-journal stayed.  
  
“Where will you go then?”  
  
“An inn, or something. I need to regroup, figure out what I’m supposed to  _do_.”  
  
“But any law-abiding troll is gonna turn you over to the Compasse once she decrees you traitor. Anyone who don’t abide by laws could hurt you.”  
  
“You have any better ideas, now that I’ve gone and shoved my foot up the ass of anyone who trusted me before?!”  
  
Gamzee swallowed. “Come with me. To the Priestly’s Big Top. The Church don’t got its follow on to the law of the land, and no one there will lift a finger against you. You made friends there on purpose, right?”  
  
“Are you sure? The Grand Highblood is still there.”  
  
“We’ll make it work. If all you need is a few days, between the two of us we can make him abide.”  
  
Karkat stared at his mostly-full sack, contemplating. “…Yeah, I think that could work,” he said. “Maybe there’s something I missed in this prophecy. If I can figure that out, then I can save those children.”  
  
Gamzee nodded, for once a plan coming together in his own head. He still had a favor eightfold tucked in his back pocket. Now is the perfect time to use it. And he had one way to ensure that the Grand Highblood would protect Karkat no matter what. The scarletblood himself would probably kill him if he knew this was what he wanted to do, but at this crucial juncture, he saw no other way.  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
The Chimeric took his bag and slung it across his shoulder. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”  
  
“Let’s go.”


	38. Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a fairly graphic depiction of violence. Not sure whether this counts as an Archive Warning; please advise.

Karkat and Gamzee rode in silence. The vehicle operator, unaware of the scandal, took Karkat’s word that plans had changed. Though Karkat flinched at each stop or sudden change in the light, his psyche stayed clear, the fear negated with that simple image of a candelabra which concealed his true thoughts. Gamzee wished he could look so calm, and not think about what the Grand Highblood’s support might cost.  
  
They made it to the cathedraltop safely, and behind the enormous doors a few dozen trolls had already gathered. Most of the fanfare for Gamzee’s return fizzled out as they noticed Karkat, but a few trolls still celebrated. The Sanguine and Priestly greeted Karkat the same as Gamzee, and the Mellowed executed a bellyflop of a hug. With those antics holding the attention, Gamzee took the Priestly aside for a second.  
  
“Where’s the Grand One?”  
  
“Prayer block.”  
  
Gamzee nodded and left Karkat in the hall to explain the situation to the minstrelisters. He trusted Karkat to explain everything in such a way that sanctuary would be freely offered. If he went light on the details about the magical chimera, he’d find friends for sure.  
  
In barely a few minutes, he found the door to the little prayer block. Honkbeastbumps dotted his arms as he held up his hand—no going back—and he knocked.  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s the Mirthful.”  
  
“It’s open.”  
  
Gamzee entered the block. The Highblood faced himself in the mirror, dabbing sealant on his paint. He smiled over his shoulder. “Finally back, motherfucker.”  
  
He swallowed. “Chimeric is here, too.”  
  
The elder’s smile vanished. He put down his sponge and turned around. “What?”  
  
“He’s with the others, in the entrance.”  
  
“I thought we were done with the fishbitch telling you to keep your watch on him.”  
  
“He flipped his shit at the Compasse over culling. Pissed off everyone. Guardians, Governors. All that clout he’s been building for sweeps is ash now.”  
  
“So why is he here?”  
  
“Compasse told him to straighten up and fly right or become a motherfucking renegade. He chose renegade.”  
  
“You’re not answering my question, motherfucker.”  
  
“The Big Tops are the only bits of Beforus that don’t belong to the Empress. Religious exemptions and all. He needs a few nights to figure out what to do next. Then I’ll make sure he leaves for good.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“I’ve got a favor I can call. A doozy. Give him three days. Then he’ll be gone.”  
  
The Highblood pinched the bridge of his nose. “None of this makes any wicked sense, brother. All the rumors I kept on getting my hear to said you were ready to join us again. You got freed of all this worldly noise.”  
  
“…I guess not.”  
  
“What happens if the redbro can’t get his shit together in three days? I don’t want no freeloader taking advantage of our wicked hospitalities.”  
  
Gamzee tried to meet the Highblood’s eyes, but he couldn’t keep his eyes level and speak at the same time. “I’ll  _make_  him get it together… else the little bro is gonna witness an excommunication. I’m not gonna let that happen.”  
  
“What? Whose?”  
  
“Mine.”  
  
“No, brother, can’t be. You ain’t done no thing to need that. I get my harsh on at you to keep the faith pure, but you’re our good bro—”  
  
Gamzee cut the Highblood off in a rush. “He was six when I piled him.”  
  
“…You  _what_?”  
  
“Something big had gone wrong, and he was so angry and sad… He was so little when I had started feeling all this affection at him, and the Compasse said I was feeling the way lusii feel, so… so I kept silent. I shouldn’t have, but I listened to her, and then we jammed through some wicked emotional shit, and I didn’t tell… Just kept staying heir…” Gamzee choked on the rush of words. “And I can’t stop being pale for him! Treaty or not, I pity him like… I can’t even speak it, I don’t have the motherfucking words. It’s… the biggest thing I’ve ever felt. I feel like a different troll since I met him. Like I can all feel good about it, except the part of me that thinks and knows it’s not…”  
  
The Highblood said nothing. Gamzee couldn’t tell if he looked disgusted or if it was a projection of his own feelings.  
  
“I just… hope for one last miracle. That you’ll keep him safe. Protect him until he leaves, then I’ll answer for what I’ve done. The bro’s innocent anyway—he’s the victim here. So  _please_ , wait to cast me down. Please.”  
  
The elder finally moved. He stepped closer, looking Gamzee over like a stranger. Then he spat. Wet spittle slapped Gamzee on the nose and cheeks, but he just flinched. It was the first in a long line of punishments he deserved.  
  
“You sick  _fuck._ ” he growled. “You won’t get to be in the same block as that wiggler again, you hear me? Not gonna have you spewing around desecration by thinking the night after a titling day’s a good time to transmute abuse into romance.”  
  
Gamzee nodded. Almost masochistically, it felt good to hear the Highblood say he was as awful as he felt.  
  
“C’mon. Time to set the Chimeric up where you can’t get him.”  
  
He followed the Highblood out of the prayer block, but when they returned to the hallway, they found no one there. The Highblood glared at Gamzee, but of all the wrongs he’d done over the last few sweeps, he wasn’t responsible for this one. In the silence, they heard a voice echo down the Honk Halls—the congregation had moved to the Big Top without them. The Highblood’s jaw clenched.  
  
As they approached the doors, Karkat’s voice echoed from within: “…idiocy to pretend anything different. We have to act now, for the dignity, power and potential of all trolls, and most importantly for our freedom today! There’s no one in this world who can tell you all that you are. For your own sakes, for the sakes of your brothers, I want to help you find what you’re capable of!”  
  
The Highblood and Gamzee entered to find the congregation circling Karkat, who paced the center of the holy ring and delivered a sermon to the gathered believers. The concept sounded familiar to Gamzee, this time super-charged with a call to action in light of the chimera’s prophecy. The listeners appeared receptive, some almost indistinguishable from the loyal, trusting faces of Karkat’s court from a sweep ago.  
  
“This is how a motherfucking  _refugee_  conducts himself in the hive of his gracious-ass hosts?” the Highblood asked.  
  
Gamzee said nothing. Karkat was too proud and determined to act like his world had ended, even in this situation. But nothing was going against Gamzee’s plan yet. If he confessed pedophilia, the Highblood would defend Gamzee’s victim, Karkat. Done. If Karkat found support among his brothers, then one of them could give him what he needed to walk this path of the rebel. Done. He didn’t consider the Highblood might judge Karkat by whether acted the part of an abused wiggler. But the plan was still good, for now. Karkat could apologize.  
  
Someone on the other side of the ring noticed them enter, and waved. All eyes turned away from the circle’s center, and Karkat stopped at the end of his sentence.  
  
“Who looked at the way to the Dark Carnival and called it ready?” the Highblood asked.  
  
“I did,” the Priestly answered. “Well, I didn’t call the path ready, since this ain’t part of the Carnival yet. I just thought that when a motherfucker got something important to be saying, it should get said in a Big Top, y’feel?”  
  
“And who let him stand in that ring to speak without slam?”  
  
“Still me, Highblood. I don’t got excuses for that one beyond how the things that were getting said were getting too motherfucking important to ignore. So I’ll take the shit on that. Won’t happen again.”  
  
“Yeah? And what kinds of things were all being said at us?”  
  
The Sanguine jumped in, standing beside Karkat and the Priestly in the center. “I can say! See, the Chimeric got a theory… Highblood, he got a theory… about culling, and Beforus… and it’s easy to miss what really goes on when you take all these trolls and sort them by color and then tell them one’s better than the other because they’re gonna live for some nookload of time. It’s the thing that’s holding us all back, man! Like they threw a brownblood, Camellia, into my hive ten sweeps ago and I thought this was just some motherfucking shitty destiny tossed onto my span! But I was just seeing the _color_! Then I spent one night really listening, and we got our paint on at the fishbitch’s palace, putting rude words in murals right on her motherfucking walls, and I saw her  _soul_ , man!”  
  
She nearly doubled over laughing, and others hollered at this victory of anarchy over order. “So it got me thinking, how many other real souls do we treat like swatches of blood because we think we know what they’re good for? I wanna see this whole spectrum new! No woolbeast material over my eyes keeping me for seeing motherfuckers as they are! If we do away with culling forever, then we’ll live as free trolls, and no one can tell us who we have to be!”  
  
“Preach!” someone shouted.  
  
“And why do you think this motherfucker got it right when he talks about the world like that?” the Highblood asked.  
  
“Cuz this!” the Mellowed added himself to the central mess, holding aloft the tooth on a leather cord from last sweep. “This is his! I was getting my title on… we were doing our miracles… and Chimeric did his sickle-thing… all wicked shit… and then someone’s ball gets lose… all flying out of formation… knocks this outta his face! And he… he makes it a necklace! Like, what the fuck? He’s a motherfucker… who gives his all for his brothers! He  _delivers_!”  
  
Most in the circle apparently knew the story, but Gamzee didn’t. They chuckled while the Mellowed wrapped up, turning to Karkat and clapping hands on his shoulders. “So you tell me… the fishbitch is after you? Alright… You need a hive? You got mine! And if the fucker bothers to show up… you can have my lusus too!”  
  
The purplebloods laughed and cheered. The Mellowed was joking, but a thing could be a joke and a vow at the same time. Gamzee looked at the Highblood to try and see how he was taking this. He didn’t look happy, but he hadn’t looked happy since Gamzee told him the news that the Chimeric was in the cathedraltop. His heart hammered all the harder, waiting for some sign of how this was going to play out.  
  
The Highblood finally stepped forward, holding one hand to his forehead and adding a false, comedic warble of age to his voice. “Oh, my most blessed brothers! If you could know what I’ve heard in the last hour alone. A motherfucker can only hear so many revelations before he wants to take his hands and stop the globe from spinning, so he can catch his motherfucking breath!”  
  
“Well, we got some revelations on, too,” the Priestly said. “It’s a lot to shove in your protein chute, but it’s all good shit.”  
  
“All good shit, huh?” the Highblood echoed. He continued walking through the other side of the circle. As everyone turned to face him, he turned the circle into a one-sided audience. “Mirthful, could you come here? I got a few jokes to spit and I need a motherfucking assistant.”  
  
Gamzee obeyed and followed,  _can’t lose now, GOTTA DO WHAT I CAN, make him protect him, MAKE HIM PROTECT MY LITTLE BRO—_  
  
“What do you get when you bring a candy-blooded fugitive to the Honk Halls?” he asked.  
  
“What?” he prompted.  
  
“You get a gaggle of panless brothers bowing at an idol and dropping all kinds of secular slams that the Messiahs would find un. Fucking. Funny.”  
  
The statement chased out the warm camaraderie like an icy gale extinguishes a campfire. The minstrelisters looked to each other, ashamed under their paint. Karkat glared at the Highblood and curled his fists, but stayed still.  
  
“Now, what do you get when you send a purple-blooded devotee to the palace to raise a wiggler?” the Highblood looked at Gamzee this time. His blood froze.  
  
“I—I don’t kno—”  
  
Viper-fast, the Highblood grabbed Gamzee’s right horn. He yanked down with all his ancient might, and Gamzee had no choice but to fall, until the side of his head collided with the Highblood’s knee. He heard a crack, felt the snap, and screamed as agony reverberated through his entire skull.  
  
“ _You get a grub-piling pedophile who lies to his fucking brothers!_ ” the Highblood bellowed. Gamzee hit the floor, while the Highblood dropped a long orange horn— _Gamzee’s_  horn—and let it clatter on the ground.  
  
Many shrieked, but one voice full of burning, limitless rage drowned them all. “ _Monster! That’s not what he did! He never did that—!_ ”  
  
“By his own confession, the Mirthful piled a six-sweeper, and hid his crime!” the Highblood announced over Karkat’s howling. “We must cast down a sinner and make our faith clean again, brothers! Close your ears to the deceivers poisoning our halls and follow the truth!”  
  
“DON’T TOUCH HIM! DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE TOUCH HIM,  _MURFLE—_ ”  
  
“Throw the silver-tongued prophet of faleshoods out!” the Grand Highblood ordered. “If the fishbitch wants her traitor, she’ll find him on our stoop.”  
  
Gamzee writhed on the floor until he had his hands and knees under his weight. Twisting his head—so unbalanced now, and still throbbing, splitting open—he looked up at Karkat, held just barely by four purplebloods as he clawed and kicked and cried. At his orders, the brothers holding Karkat started to drag him back. “ _LET ME GO! I WILL BURN THIS FECULENT DEN OF PSYCHOPATHS TO THE GROUND IF YOU TOUCH ANOTHER HAIR ON HIS HEAD! DO YOU HEAR ME!? I WILL MAKE YOU PAY—!_ ”  
  
 _Don’t… don’t…!_  Gamzee crawled after them when the Highblood kicked him in the ribs. Unbalanced, he crumpled, and his broken horn stub grazed the ground and made his spine scream.  
  
“This is a cautionary tale to be written in the Testament for sure,” the Highblood said as Karkat’s vengeful howls echoed into silence. “In our spans, we’ll meet trolls who look, talk, and feel like the sweetest of miracles. But it’s our job to know the difference between sweet and divine. There ain’t a thing divine about some mouthy mutant! He’s just the latest motherfucker who thinks he knows how to rule a planet. And any brother persuaded by that siren song is a MOTHERFUCKING DISGRACE!”  
  
“You said…” Gamzee croaked. “You’d protect him…”  
  
“You saw him same as I did, treating our spiritualities like the next rung in his ambition-ladder. I’m not gonna keep that kind of seditious noise in these hallowed halls. if you think I’m gonna let some motherfucker exploit our most sacred of blood bonds, you got another thought coming.”  
  
His body could barely move, the ache and throb in his head shutting down almost all of his muscles. But he had to try… had to save Karkat…  
  
The Highblood paced around Gamzee, then knelt down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, lifting until he was nearly kneeling again. He whispered, “You’re gonna  _mourn_  for what you’ve done, motherfucker. You’re gonna mourn as everything you ever loved dies. That’s my promise.”  
  
The Highblood hefted Gamzee up higher, and turned to the rest of the hall. “NOW! Who here wants to take the first swing at this grub-piling freak!?”  
  
For a few moments, no one moved. Gamzee’s labored breaths and small whispers, “ _don’t_ ,” bounced off the walls. Then someone bent over and picked up Gamzee’s busted horn. The troll took a few steps closer and swung the horn back like a juggling club.  
  
Gamzee recognized the Priestly.  
  
The blow landed.


	39. The Final Set of Answers

He couldn’t tell how long they spent beating him. Felt like forever. When they were satisfied, they dragged him away. They dropped him.  
  
Someone was screaming. Then crying.  
  
And then Gamzee lost consciousness.  
  
When he next opened his eyes, they barely moved. The light stabbed, adding the pain of squinting to the pain of… literally everything else. He slowly adjusted and opened his eyes wide enough to see details. White walls. Colorful scarves and tapestries. A well-trimmed tree outside the window. An orange horn, out of the corner of his eye.  
  
Gamzee twitched his head. Without the weight of his right horn as a counterbalance, he turned almost involuntarily. The other horn in the room belonged to a troll with deep burgundy eyes, a broad smile, and curled, ram-like horns. She stared unblinkingly at Gamzee like the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.  
  
“You almost died,” she told him. “I can’t believe how much blood you lost. You’re more stitches and splints than troll now. Like a huge broken doll!” She leaned a little closer. “Hey… did you see Death?”  
  
He blinked. If he wanted to answer her question, he would say ‘I’m probably dead right now.’ But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to hear his own voice.  
  
“Sorry. Mistress says I’m too morbid. But this is my first time seeing her treat a cool landdweller!” she apologized. “Do you need anything? Food or water?”  
  
He still said nothing. What was there even to respond to? What was the point?  
  
She took his silence as permission to keep staring. She cradled her chin on her hands and watched with that macabre smile.  
  
Some time passed, then the block door creaked open and closed. “Is he awake?” a familiar voice asked. The Benevole stood behind the burgundy, busy with gloves and gauze. This was Gamzee’s first time seeing the Benevole in proper healer’s scrubs instead of a ball gown.  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” the burgundy said.  
  
“Thank goodness. Would you deliver the good news?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Thank you, Lodestar.”  
  
The burgundy—Lodestar—left the block. Claws covered, the Benevole checked a series of pressure points across Gamzee’s body. They all hurt, but he just winced through it.  
  
“On a scale of one to ten, one being negligible and ten being all-consuming, how is your pain?” the Benevole asked.  
  
Gamzee shook his head.  
  
“That’s not a medically helpful answer.”  
  
He looked away. The Benevole clicked her tongue and set to work changing a vast series of bandages, raising Gamzee’s limbs to suit her needs.  
  
“I don’t think I need to inform you precisely how lucky you are to be alive,” she said as she worked. “Case studies about the durability of your caste are one thing, but seeing it in practice is quite another. And I should tell you that the Chimeric is alive and well, too. He summoned me almost two nights ago in response to your condition. He is also probably the best one to inform you of the current situation. Such machinations were never my forte.”  
  
She had Gamzee lean forward. Though everything screamed in pain, he complied, and let her change the bandages wrapped around his back. Once satisfied, the Benevole had him lean back again, then produced three small white pills and a glass of water.  
  
“Open,” she ordered. He did, she pushed the pills past his teeth, and then held the glass steady for him to drink. Once satisfied the pills were down, she set stripped off her gloves and cleaned her mediculler station, then paused.  
  
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I have met minstrelisters before. They were unseemly and at times capricious, but I never for a single moment imagined they, or any troll, would be capable of…  _this_. Is this really the will of your Messiahs? That you brutalize blood traitors and leave them to die?”  
  
Gamzee could barely perform the motion—so much strain on his neck—but he nodded. Many crimes got a pass from the Messiahs. Not Gamzee’s.  
  
“…I see. Then jades and purples are not very similar after all.”  
  
Yeah, that was a thing that got said once, wasn’t it? About devout castes that kept to themselves. Gamzee resumed staring at the ceiling, and with no response given, the Benevole left the block.  
  
What happened now? What  _mattered_  now? He’d been expecting this, sort of. He knew excommunication would rip away the foundation of his soul. But he thought he’d at least have Karkat’s safety secured, something to believe in. Now what? What could a stupid, broken, soulless, damned clown do when his futile attempt to protect another failed?  
  
The door creaked again. This time, it was Karkat, still in his red kurta but sporting more scarlet on the ends of his fingers. His claws were broken and bloody, with his knuckles covered in angry red scrapes.  
  
“Bro… y’hands…” Gamzee croaked.  
  
“Fucking  _excuse_  me?” Karkat retorted. “You look like a gang of trolls flogged you with bags of rocks—which is probably what happened, for all I know—and you want to get pissy over some chipped claws?! Shut your goddamn ignorance chute and stop treating my molehills like mountains when you’re sitting in the middle of a goddamn  _sierra_!”  
  
In the face of Karkat’s rebuttal, Gamzee couldn’t say anything. But he wanted to know what happened. After a ten second staring contest, Karkat sighed and relented. “I tried to claw open the cathedraltop doors. Then I remembered I had sickles. I’d say sorry for putting gouges in the doors to your old Church but I’m really, really not. They tossed your sorry carcass out before I could break the doors down. There was so much blood, and you looked about to die… I remembered the Benevole’s clinic nearby, and ran and got her. We were almost sunrunning by the end. We’ve been here the last two days, waiting for you to wake up.”  
  
Gamzee stared at his toes. He should have bled out on the Big Top’s steps. Karkat saved a life that didn’t exist.  
  
“We should be safe for a little longer. I am officially a criminal charged with treason, but my hunt has been interrupted by a reprehensible amount of finger-pointing,” Karkat took Lodestar’s vacated chair. “Did you really tell the Compasse you felt pale for me when I was young?”  
  
He couldn’t move enough to shrug. “Ah-huh…”  
  
Karkat nodded. “That’s given the Grand Sociopath very potent ammunition against the Compasse. He announced your excommunication on charges of pedophilia, and basically accused the Compasse of a cover-up. The public is outraged, but the Church hasn’t escaped unscathed.”  
  
Gamzee’s eyebrows knitted together. Why would the Church be in the wrong?  
  
“Consensus says your punishment was excessively cruel and not congruent with the ideals of Beforan society. Moderates want the participating congregation to face charges. Radicals want the faith abolished. Of course, the Compasse is no position to enact reforms, since the fact she didn’t punish you means your caste had the right to dispense its own justice. The public is blaming her as much as the Church.”  
  
He didn’t move. Why was Karkat telling him all of this?  
  
“…Did you know they would excommunicate you, if you brought me?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And you still let me come?!”  
  
“I named you… my victim,” Gamzee said. He could barely breathe, and it felt like half his ribs were broken, but he forced the words out. “So they’d protect… you, then cast… cast me down…” The pain of just breathing brought tears to his eyes, and they flowed easily. “Asked him to wait… ’til you were safe… he changed his mind.”  
  
“Fuck, Mirthful, I didn’t realize… I was so stupid—” He reached his hand out and covered Gamzee’s.  
  
That was too much. He blinked, and tears fell. “Don’t.”  
  
“Don’t what?”  
  
“Don’t start… pitying me now,” Gamzee said. “I didn’t go to hell… to make you pity me.”  
  
“You think I’ve just  _started_  to pity you now because you’re more bruise than body?”  
  
“You’re acting like it,” Gamzee tried to pull his hand away, but didn’t have the strength to escape Karkat’s grasp. “All my fault… I got pale for a wiggler… fucked you up. Could’ve been great… could’ve led revolution… But you got stuck with me…”  
  
Karkat added a second hand over Gamzee’s. “No, shhh, shhh—“  
  
His shoulders shook, and a sob mangled even more of his already broken body. “I said don’t—!”  
  
“I’m going to tell you the part of this atrocity that made me the angriest. It’s the fact that no one took the time to ask my opinion. You were accused, sentenced, and punished for harming a wiggler. Why was that wiggler not allowed to testify?”  
  
He tried to speak, “Bro—” but Karkat shooshed him.  
  
“Do you remember when I solicited you? I was eight, and I thought I knew everything. I got my ass handed to me, like my past self deserved. You asked me how I knew if you were a good person, which I hadn’t considered. And I didn’t realize the difference between caring about someone and taking care of them. I didn’t understand what feeing pale for you meant. I thought a lot about my feelings, between then and now, and everything I’ve learned and seen. I want you to take these feelings seriously.”  
  
Gamzee could feel warm tears on his cheeks, but he looked at Karkat and managed to nod.  
  
“Something has gone wrong, for sure. We are  _fucked up_. We could start negotiating blame, like everyone else is doing. Maybe the Compasse is at fault. She’s the one who placed me in an adult’s arms during a time when normal wigglers learn to love their lusii. Maybe the fault is yours. You acted the role of the involuntarily seduced culler, all while grooming me to pity you. And maybe it’s my fault! Maybe my quadrants are mutated like my blood. Or maybe I’m too much of a raging douche for anyone to care about me without a legal obligation to do so. I will not rule out any of those scenarios.  
  
“But you know me, and you know this truth better than anyone. I do not surrender. If I am damaged—by error or by design—then so fucking be it! Rather than regretting that wound and moaning about the life I could have led, I will wear this scar with pride. Nothing we say or do will erase the crime that occurred, nor will assigning blame make me magically un-abused. There is only one fact that matters moving forward: my pale feelings for you are an immutable part of my existence.”  
  
He met Karkat’s blazing eyes, strong with conviction. He choked out a single word, “Can’t…”  
  
“I can. I am. They locked me outside of the cathedral while dozens of trolls assaulted you inside, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how I would rather it be me than you inside. How I want no harm to come to you, how badly I want to see you happy and at peace—all the romance I’ve studied for my whole life, I feel it for you.”  
  
Gamzee couldn’t stop crying. “Little bro… please…”  
  
“Please what? Please, take back the truth? Please, pretend you aren’t the most important troll in my life, my first and best friend who took nothing seriously except me? The one who cared how I felt above everything else? I reflected on every memory I have of you and  _every single fucking time_  you did what was best for me, no matter the cost. You did it just now! If you had just stayed silent, the Grand Barbarian might have deemed me unfunny, shown me the door, and left you unharmed. But you submitted yourself for ritualistic assault and permanent expulsion from your religion just to give me better odds of earning sanctuary! You can’t tell me you were doing that because it was in  _your_  best interests!”  
  
Karkat raised one of his hands and papped Gamzee’s cheek. In sensitivity to his bruises and broken jaw, the touch stayed feather-light, almost tantalizing.  
  
“And most selfishly, but importantly of all… I don’t want to do this without you. The chimera shoved a fragmented prophecy into my brain and no instructions on how to make people believe me. The Guardians have rejected me. The government has condemned me. My followers are ashamed of me. There is literally no one left who is precious to me but you. I can’t do this alone.”  
  
“…I can’t,” Gamzee kept crying, but he leaned closer to the touch. “M’worthless…”  
  
“You’re not. You matter to me, more than anything.”  
  
“Sick… liar!”  
  
“Shhhh, it’s okay. You lied because you were scared. You’ve told the truth now, shhh, shhhhh…”  
  
_This is pathetic,_  Gamzee thought. “Just a stupid—!”  
  
“No, shhhhhshhhh, no…”  
  
Karkat was too smart not to recognize the bait for what it was. Gamzee kept goading Karkat into shooshing him, as if three nights ago that wouldn’t have been yet another crime to add to his long list of despicable failures. But he couldn’t stop. He was already damned. The Church had thrown him out with the garbage. What did it matter now if he kept his hands off of Karkat or not? Karkat, who from his own assessment, pitied Gamzee possibly as much as he pitied Karkat?  
  
“Little bro…”  
  
“I’m here. Shhhshhh, I’m here for you.”  
  
“Please—”  
  
He leaned closer to Gamzee’s face and kissed the tears as they fell. Gamzee shivered and fought the pain to place a hand on Karkat’s back. The mutant continued to kiss and caress him, and very gingerly rose from the chair to steal a corner of Gamzee’s reclining platform. He continued to cry while Karkat soothed him, dodging around a dozen injuries just to touch an inch of un-tortured skin.  
  
“Goin’ to hell…”  
  
“I’ll welcome you there.”  
  
“Still ain’t right…”  
  
“I don’t care if it’s right. It’s real. It happened. I love you, Mirthful. Shhhhhh, I pity you, I’m pale for you… Pale for sweeps, and sweeps to come.”  
  
Gamzee tried to repeat that back to Karkat, but choked and wheezed. The battering on his chest refused to cooperate. He dug his claws into the back of Karkat’s kurta and clung like a drowning man to driftwood.  
  
Karkat continued to caress his red-bloodied hands over Gamzee’s purple-bloodied face. He closed his eyes and pressed as close to his former cullee—his _moirail,_  dare he think that word?—as his body would allow, and then he pressed a little closer. Though the smaller troll, by some miracle skill he possessed even back when he was six, Karkat found a way to scoot himself fully onto the lateral platform, far enough for Gamzee to lie his head down on Karkat’s lap. Karkat kept one hand papping Gamzee’s face while the other combed through Gamzee’s hair. Both sent their own unique, calm tingles through his abused body.  
  
Eventually, he cried himself out. Karkat’s shooshes devolved into whispers, then calm silence. Gamzee felt the warmth of Karkat’s legs under his cheek, and in the palm of his hand on his face. Nearly sixty-six sweeps since someone piled him like this, and the attention felt long overdue.  
  
It occurred to him that for the first time in his memory, Gamzee didn’t have gods in his life. He learned about the Mirthful Messiahs the same night he learned what purple was, and they had stayed with him, until this. He had betrayed them, for sure, but they betrayed him in turn… or at least, Gamzee felt that while lying across Karkat’s lap. It was easy to believe that gods should give a shit about their devotees while bundled up in pale light this. It was easy to want a god who would treat him like this.  
  
…Maybe he had one after all. The concept of worshipping Karkat made Gamzee wheeze with giggles. He wouldn’t  _worship_  Karkat (probably) but those last nine sweeps of growing and learning, victory and defeat, meeting new people to love and hate, that felt pretty motherfucking divine, no matter what the likes of the Grand Highblood said.  
  
He closed his eyes one more time, but this time not with resignation or pain, but with peace. Absolutely nothing about his situation gave him a reason to have hope. He had evaded death, but he could be crippled forever with a broken horn. He would never find a friend in his blood caste again. With his crime known to all, he’d find no sympathy outside his caste, either. Meanwhile, Karkat faced political persecution from every branch of the government, to every corner of the globe. Following him would mean risking prison or death.  
  
But Gamzee smiled, cradled in his moirail’s arms.  _Now_  this  _is a happy ending._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT’S OVER!!! :D
> 
> Sort of. There are too many dangling plot threads and unexplored stories for me to call this over forever. I set out to write a story fulfilling a prompt on the Homesmut Kink Meme, asking for GamzeeKarkat, on Beforus, featuring an inappropriate age gap relationship. What I wrote was the foundation for my Beforus ancestry headcanon. That story is nowhere NEAR finished, but the original prompt is fulfilled, so I’m okay stopping here.
> 
> Now that I fully understand each Ancestor’s role in creating the Beforus that the dancestors left behind, I realized that this 120K word story is a prologue. Think of it the way that The Hobbit is the prologue to Lord of the Rings. I need to set the stage for how Beforus works, introduce you to the Ancestors, and then set the plot in motion. I need to take a little break for sanity and to jump-start writing and ensure a smooth, semi-regular update schedule. Let’s say… early November?
> 
> There’s also the issue that, around chapter 6 or so when I knew how this WHOLE thing was going to end, I felt an incredible urge to explore what the dancestors know about their Ancestors. What does Kankri know about the Chimeric’s legacy? What does Kurloz know about Gamzee’s? And what would happen if the Alternian trolls found out who they were on Beforus? 
> 
> And that’s why I want to keep writing, even though I’m signing myself up for an even bigger behemoth of a story. Not just to finish out the plot, but to show everyone reactions to that story and why it matters. I’m also curious about whether I can write a foregone conclusion plot and still keep it as exciting and plot-twisty as this fic. I can promise that the rest of this saga will have exciting new features, like multiple POVs, dancestors and the meteor crew, adult roleplaying, ghosts (SO many ghosts), crying (SO much crying), and how I really feel about Gamzee Makara. Might not be what you expect. ;)
> 
> In the meantime, I want to start up real conversations in comments. I don’t exactly know where the balance is between talking to my readers and acting like one of those egotistical “ask me what it means~” artist-authors. I know there are a few times I snapped and commented, but I tried my best to resist because I didn’t trust myself to keep back spoilers. Now that I don’t have to worry about that (as much), I can finally talk openly about all the clues and easter eggs I tried to tuck in this monstrosity. Like, I am inordinately proud of many of my chapter titles, like a nerd. XD Think of it like an AMA!
> 
> I really look forward to talking with you, and announcing the start of this next chapter in the story of Ancient Beforus!


End file.
